When Irish Eyes Aren't Smiling
by Captain Serious
Summary: Jimmy O'Phelan never had his eye on Fiona Larkin; it had always been Filip's niece, Catherine. Filip can only watch hopelessly from the sideline as Catherine is blinded by love, lust, and indoctrination. When the relationship between the True IRA and SAMCRO dissolves, Filip will stop at nothing to keep his niece from meeting the same fate as the Irish kingpin.
1. Bloody Sunday

When Catherine first approached Jimmy about joining the Irish Republican Army, she had been sixteen and he was the commander of the Belfast Brigade. The girl who had once preached to him about the importance of unifying Ireland through nonviolence looked up at him with two black eyes and a split lower lip. He always knew she would eventually come around, seeing his view of the world.

On a bleak and rainy Thursday afternoon, Catherine diverted from her usual walk home from St. Dominic's Grammar School for Girls. She quickly regretted her decision, when she became the target of a drunken off-duty British soldier. With her black, swollen eyes and bloodied lip, she told Jimmy the assault had taken place following her resistance of copulation with the hot and bothered soldier of the Crown. As Catherine recounted every detail of the beating she took, he recognized the incident had changed her. The days of believing pacifism was the answer were now in her past, as her ability to fight back had saved her from being defiled.

At first, Jimmy suggested she join the all-female IRA auxiliary group, Cumann na mBann. Although she came from a long line of women who had taken on the serious responsibilities of being part of Cumann na mBann, Catherine wanted more than bandaging wounded soldiers and hiding guns which were still smoldering following a shooting. Her decision to be alongside the men who she had known for almost two decades, had been formulated by a combination of feminism and the entitlement of having come from a distinguished republican family.

"I don't want 'ta make tea and suture." She turned her cheek a meager subsidiary role. "I want 'ta fight."

Catherine assured Jimmy she was just as able as any man. Hundreds of women before her had proved themselves to be worthy of the cause. She refused to settle for anything less than being a soldier. The fire that burned in her eyes as she spoke, reminded Jimmy far too much of Filip Telford.

He had soaked in every single word she said, examined them carefully, and then brought her arguments to the Army Council. Jimmy knew she was worthy to wear the black beret. She had been reared in the Irish Republican Army; the cause pumped through her veins and loyalty gripped her heart. She would make a fine soldier, as she was smart and obedient.

Ever since the moment, she locked eyes with the British soldier who attacked her, Catherine realized she had spent most of her years in a naive fantasy. Peaceful resistance wasn't the answer-it wouldn't bring about the change Northern Ireland desperately needed.

When Jimmy brought her induction to the Army Council for a vote, he was met with a resistance he hadn't been expecting. They told him to back off the young Catherine, without the slightest explanation as to why. So his hands were tied, but that didn't stop him from exposing her to the life she desired.

For years after, Jimmy spent nearly every free minute he could with her. Whether it be target practice or filling her head with the reasons why the Army fought. As commander of the Bridge, Jimmy also eased her in by starting her off running mundane errands after school, to eventually having her tag along on the weekends when he made weapon drops in the Republic.

Nonetheless, just before Catherine's eighteenth birthday in December, Jimmy would defy the wishes of her father, no longer holding any respect for his comrade following a fateful night weeks before Christmas.

Catherine sank into the couch, pulling her knees to her chest. She tried to hide her face, not wanting to bear witness to the vulgar back and forth between her sober brother and inebriated father. These fights were unfortunately typical in the O'Toole household. Brien would stick up for their mother when Patrick would come home looking for trouble following a night out.

The young woman's eyes filled with a fleeting sorrow and tears, knowing full well what was coming the moment she saw her father wind his fist back. Brien stumbled backward after the ensuing punch to the side of the head, but he ignored the stars in his eyes as he was blinded by rage. Lunging towards his father, it became a mess of flailing arms with some punches landing, but most of them not.

Catherine instinctively unfolded from her position on the couch, when Patrick had somehow managed to get Brien into a headlock. Her mother began screaming at her husband to let her youngest son go, but she became hysterical when Catherine pounced on Patrick's back. It was her desperate attempt to break her father and brother apart.

She was beyond protective of her older brother. They were a mere ten months apart and had been glued to the hip for the last seventeen years. Even though she knew Brien could hold his own in a fistfight with Patrick, Catherine could never remain a bystander like their mother. From a young age, Brien always fought like a man while their father liked to take the cowards way out.

"Let him go!" Catherine screamed. She landed punches of her own to the side of Patrick's face.

Brien was no longer concerned about the position Patrick had him in, his focus was now on getting his sister out of the scrum. There had only been three times in their lives where Patrick turned on Catherine, and each time he felt enough guilt to _almost_ changing his ways.

Now becoming annoyed and enraged by his daughter, Patrick let go of Brien. Their mother, Olivia, rushed to her son's side and began wiping the blood from the splits on his lip and eyebrow. Brien, however, didn't want his mother's pity and pushed Olivia away after Patrick managed to overpower Catherine.

He threw her onto the ground, knocking the wind out of her, before pinning her down with his legs on either side of her pelvis.

When his bloody hand grabbed the collar of her shirt, Catherine knew her fate had been sealed. There was no way she could prepare for the punches that connected with the center of her face. The first blow broke her nose, sending such a searing pain through her body it numbed all other senses. Catherine's vision became blurry with every jab that followed. Her ears rang so loudly, she could barely make out the screeches of her mother. It was Brien who came to her aid.

"I'll fuckin' kill 'ya!" Brien tackled Patrick with enough force, it sent both men to the ground.

The only sound that now filled the humid living room, was the cries coming from Olivia. Feeling woozy, Catherine sat up and rested her back against the couch as her chest heaved from heavy breaths. She attempted to wipe the blood from her nose, but the pain was too great to complete the simple action.

With pitiful eyes, Catherine turned her gaze to her mother. She wasn't angry-she couldn't be. It was a known fact Patrick followed the same cycle; he would drink, get angry, fight, sober up, feel guilty, then start drinking again. He couldn't be helped, which only led Catherine to feel sorry for her mother who was so insecure with her life, she couldn't muster the courage to leave her abusive husband.

Patrick released himself from the pin Brien had him in. Sitting up and leaning on the coffee table, he surveyed the damage he had done to his youngest child; his only daughter, the only true love in his life.

"Catherine," Patrick called out.

She wanted none of it. Standing to her feet, Catherine bolted out of the house and onto the damp Falls Road. At least she had grabbed her shoes, but she was wearing clothes that hardly protected her skin from the winter chill in the air. Furious and bloody, Catherine aimlessly walked and as soon as she crossed the river into east Belfast, she knew exactly where to go.

In the Short Strand, lived a man who she could rely on. He was the only one who would know what to do, and he could get her medical attention without it becoming neighborhood gossip. Despite the fact Patrick had just let loose on her, Catherine didn't want it getting out that it was her father who had rearranged her face.

Jimmy had just sat down on the couch, with a can of Guinness and a piping hot plate of bangers and mash. He turned the volume up on the television, enjoying this rare alone time as his longtime girlfriend had taken her daughter to Dublin for a Christmas shopping trip. Looking forward to a night of beer and rugby, Jimmy had just lifted a forkful of mashed potatoes to his mouth when a knock at the door interrupted dinner.

Glancing up at the clock, he wondered who in the hell it could be. None of the Army lads dared to show up on his front doorstep and he would have been informed of a Royal Ulster Constabulary raid. When the second knock came, Jimmy stood at a snail's pace, trying to make as little noise as possible. He grabbed the pistol he kept under the sofa and made sure a round was chambered as he walked to the front door. Unlocking the deadbolt and unlatching the chain, he was met with a startled Catherine, who instantly raised her hands when she saw the firearm.

"It's just me, Jimmy!"

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." He tucked the pistol into his waistband, before pulling Catherine inside and locking the door behind her.

He was horrified by the sight of her. She fought every urge not to collapse into his arms a crying and blubbering mess as he pushed her hair from her face, looking over the destruction. This was the Catherine that Jimmy knew—strong and unshakeable in the wake of violence.

"That mother fucker," Jimmy hissed. There was only one man in all of Ireland who would hit Catherine Mary.

Her copper locks were matted with blood, as was the front of her t-shirt. She was wearing a pair of her brother's basketball shorts on her lower half.

"I think he broke my nose."

The swelling on her left eye was minor, which Jimmy found surprising considering how black and blue the socket was. He cupped her hot jaw in his hands, the coolness of his flesh coming as a relief to her as her body temperature had risen almost ten degrees.

"I'll fuckin' kill him."

Catherine snickered, "you'll have to get in line behind Brien."

Jimmy couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for the abuse Catherine had taken. He shrugged away the gut feeling which told him to order Patrick to the safe house to sleep off his Bushmills buzz. Knowing Catherine hadn't seen her dad in nearly a month was why he hadn't.

Noticing her nose was, in fact, several centimeters off from center, Jimmy could safely conclude her nose was broken. Resetting a broken nose was second nature to Jimmy at this point in his life, and it made him sick to his stomach that he would have to inflict that pain onto her.

He dashed into the kitchen where he swiped a bottle of whiskey and yelled out to Catherine for her to follow him. They ended up in the bathroom, where Jimmy tossed the cap aside and handed the bottle to her.

"Drink."

She hesitantly brought the bottle to her lips, as she preferred the taste of Jameson over Bushmills. Taking a small sip, she quickly handed it back to Jimmy as her face twisted in disgust. He swatted the bottle and told her to drink more. After she swallowed her third mouthful, she was certain she would be sick.

Rolling up the sleeves of his white button-down, Jimmy then took the bottle from Catherine before polishing off the rest of the amber liquid and tossing it into the sink. It killed him, what he had to do, wishing more than anything that it wasn't her standing in front of him.

Backing her against the wall, Jimmy needed the hard surface to keep her still as he positioned himself. He locked his gaze with hers, noticing the glassy apathetic sheen on her eyes. Having watched her grow up, Jimmy loved that girl with every fiber in his being and hated seeing her like this. Eleven years ago, he had promised himself he would protect her until his dying breath and tonight he failed.

"This is gonna hurt." He couldn't lie to her.

Tears began collecting in the corners of Catherine's eyes as Jimmy brought his hands to her face, delicately placing his thumbs on either side of the appendage. She placed her hands on his sides, fingers tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt. Asking Catherine if she was ready would be a useless question, so without much warning, Jimmy applied pressure, increasing it quickly and forcing the bone into place.

Catherine let out a scream which pierced the Irishman's eardrums. Sure enough, she tried to pull away from Jimmy, but he golfed her in a hug. As he rubbed her back, tears began streaming down her cheeks. She begged for Jimmy to leave her nose alone. Her worn-out body couldn't handle any more pain. She was spent.

It broke Jimmy's heart to see her in such agony. "Just one more time. I need you to focus."

Slowly, she began to relax in Jimmy's arms. Once she finally did, he urged her back to the wall and took hold of her face again. He reminded her to breathe and promised it would be the last time he would have to do it. He lied that it wouldn't be as painful; the worst was yet to come. Counting down from three, Jimmy pressed hard and fast. The distinct pop that followed his motions told Jimmy her nose was back in alignment. As did the series of four-letter words that Catherine spoke. She could feel the rush of hot blood spilling from her nostrils again and she watched the droplets drip to the floor.

He wrapped her once again in his embrace, the side of her face resting against his chest, careful not to bump her nose. She noted how his shirt was now stained with her blood and she pulled away.

"I'm sorry I ruined your shirt."

"That's the least of my concerns, a chuisle." Jimmy reached for the hand towel on the vanity and gently pressed it to her nostrils as he pinched the bridge of her nose.

"You want me to talk to him?" He wasn't exactly sure what to say, but he wanted to break the silence.

"Just a waste of time. He'll never change, you know that."

Catherine rolled her eyes as she turned to the sink, twisting the taps to the faucet on. Through the reflection in the mirror, Jimmy watched as she tied her long hair into a messy bun on the top of her head. Her back slightly arched which gave him the perfect view of her taut nipples through the thin white shirt she was wearing. As Catherine dabbed the blood off her face with the damp towel, Jimmy closed the bathroom door.

"Thank you." Looking into the mirror, she caught his eyes as he stood behind her. "You shouldn't be the one constantly cleanin' up his messes."

Jimmy knew her 'thank you' was genuine. He had never met anyone with a heart as grateful as the one she had been born with. It was bewildering to him how she had grown up to be such a sweet young woman, especially when she lived through the kind of violence she had.

Life hit Jimmy hard right then and there. She was no longer the shy girl he remembered. Now, Catherine was a woman with wide, round hips, fat tits, and a dirty sense of humor. Little did she know it was that deadly combination that had nearly every man in the True IRA eating out of the palm of her hand, ready to defend her against any problem.

Jimmy O'Phelan was no exception.

It didn't matter that she was black and blue, and swollen, Jimmy could feel the crotch of his dress pants grow a little tighter as his eyes traveled down her body and back up. Unable to defeat the need to feel her soft skin under his fingers, Jimmy took a step forward and wrapped his arms around Catherine. Her heart began to palpitate as she melted into him, feeling safe and warm like always.

"I saw ya with Lorcan McInnes' hand up your skirt." he couldn't believe how envious the words sounded as they rolled off his tongue. Was he jealous of an eighteen-year-old boy? "Be careful. You don't wanna end up like your Ma."

Catherine's eyes dropped as her fingers found his. She played with them, not daring to show the victorious smile that tugged the corner of her lips. Her plan had worked; she had gotten his attention. "I'm not havin' sex with him if that's what you're alludin'. I told ya, there's only one man I want."

"Mother'a Christ." Jimmy knew he should let her go and walk away like he's done thrice before. The longer he held her, the harder it would be to control himself. "You a virgin, Catherine?"

Jimmy's hand moved under her shirt, stroking the skin just above the elastic waistband of her shorts. He already knew the answer, he just needed to hear her say it to remind him he couldn't take it too far.

"Aye." Her voice was barely over a whisper.

He lost his mind at the sight of Catherine biting her lower lip. He had a faithful woman, a stepdaughter, but they went completely unforgotten the moment he felt her ass grind against his cock. With one hand, Jimmy grabbed Catherine's jaw and turned her face, colliding his lips with hers. The kiss wasn't lustful and messy as they had expected. It was amorous and deep, full of lips and tongue. Catherine raised her arms and hooked them around Jimmy's neck opening herself up to him.

Ready to explode, she felt his hand leave her jaw and snake under her shirt, finding its final resting place on her breast. Greedy whimpers escaped Catherine, and that only encouraged Jimmy more. While this was the most amazing sexual experience she had in life thus far, she had no idea what it meant to him. He was about to lay claim to Catherine's body, give her want she had wanted for over a year now. Make her his.

Slipping his fingers into her shorts and panties, the kiss broke. Looking into the mirror, Jimmy watched her with possession burning in his eyes as his index and middle fingers made lazy circles around her clit. He wanted nothing more than to slip those fingers into her virgin cunt, but it wasn't the time or the place. She was wetter than anything he had felt. A smile of satisfaction toyed on his lips as her eyes rolled into the back of her head.

Jimmy wanted it to feel wrong. He kept waiting for the wave of guilt and disgust to force him to pull his hand from the depths of Catherine's panties, but it never came. He wasn't supposed to be enjoying this. He was supposed to be the one chasing away the boys who were.

Lust was one hell of a sin and he internally cursed Catherine and her constant taunting for pushing him to this point. Jimmy didn't want to admit that in some ways he wanted it just as bad as she, but unlike her, he knew what type of shit-storm would be kicked up.

Not to mention how it would sink his reputation. He was a commander, in charge of nearly three hundred men, and she was the daughter of his comrade.

With his fingers assaulting her swollen bundle of nerves, it didn't take long until that white heat in Catherine's belly exploded, causing her head to fall back onto Jimmy's shoulder. As her muscles clenched, her vision went blurry and her breath hitched in her throat. The blistering pleasure that ripped through her felt beyond right, but so wrong, and yet not enough.

When she came off the wave of ecstasy, Jimmy slowly removed his hand from her shorts, resting them both on her hips. Catherine's breathing was heavy and the sound of her panting echoed in the small enclosure of the bathroom. Turning around to face him, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he took note as to how flush and beautiful she looked in a post-orgasmic haze- bruises and blood in all. To some extent, it didn't surprise Jimmy to see she hadn't lost the smile in those big blue eyes, even after having just gone through hell and back.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

So he did. Gently, Jimmy dipped his head, capturing her lower lip between his. He could taste a hint of metallic as he slid his tongue along her lip and into her mouth. Her sharp fingernails sent a jolt of electricity down his spine as they scraped against his scalp, finally gripping the roots of his hair. Jimmy couldn't be sure just how many others Catherine had kissed but she poured every ounce of herself into the one with him. For Catherine, she never wanted that moment to end. She finally had exactly who she had wanted for far too long.

It all ended abruptly when Jimmy pulled away, taking several steps back to put a healthy distance between him and Catherine.

"Fuck," he muttered, wiping the saliva from his mouth. "That...shouldnot have happened."

Catherine was left standing there with a flurry of emotions. She attempted to close the growing the gap between them and reached out to place a shaky hand on Jimmy's forearm. When he nudged her off of him, Catherine's mouth began to tumble and her eyes pooled with tears. Jimmy found it slightly ironic that after what she had been through in the last hour or so, it was he who had made her cry. There was an ache of guilt welling in his belly; humiliated and alone wasn't exactly how he wanted to make Catherine feel.

"I didn't mean it like that, Catherine."

"Aye, ya did."

Now he just felt like an idiot for trying to make her feel better, while utterly failing instead.

"If Fiona finds out, it could ruin both of us." He raked his fingers through his hair. "Believe me when I say the last thing I want is for you to get in the crosshair."

While Catherine could appreciate Jimmy's desire to keep her out of the warpath of the woman he was cohabitating with, there wasn't much Fiona Larkin could do that would scare her.

"I'm not afraid of her, you know that."

Jimmy held up his hand to cease Catherine from talking. He didn't want to hear it anymore. He was tired of listening to her ramble off the reasons why they should give a relationship a try and most of all he was tired of listing off the reasons why it wouldn't work. Her lack of listening skills was also making him doubt her ability to take orders from him if she were ever to be voted into the True Army. If she couldn't listen to his reasoning now, how the hell could he trust her to listen when oil drums full of broken-down rifles were at stake?

A part of her saw that thinking in his eyes. Stepping outside of herself for a moment, Catherine looked at the situation. She could only tell herself that he was right. Fiona was known in east Belfast for her spiteful ways and once on her bad side, there was no chance of redemption. There was also no way Catherine would allow anyone to think that the only reason she was voted into the True Army was that she had any sort of sexual relationship with Jimmy.

"I can't thank you enough. Have no bloody idea what I would do without ya."

With his arms now crossed over his chest, Jimmy didn't make a single move as she stepped around him to make her way to the door. He truly didn't want to see her leave. He wanted her there with him, no longer wanting the emptiness of the house to consume him. Nonetheless, Jimmy was a smart enough man to know she couldn't stay the night, but there was something he could suggest.

Grabbing her arm, he stopped her before she could exit. "If you don't feel up to goin' to school tomorrow, you're more than welcome to hang out here."

He wasn't bullshitting her. By tomorrow morning, her face would be about three shades of black, blue, and purple, and no one would blame her for not wanting to sit in class all day.

"I appreciate that," she spoke in a low voice.

Leaning in, Catherine pressed a small kiss of gratitude to Jimmy's cheek before bidding him goodnight and goodbye.


	2. Dad's Gonna Kill Me

Like every morning, Catherine's eyes shot open at six when the piercing buzz of her alarm clock echoed in her bedroom. Sluggish and ready for Christmas break, she tossed the duvet off and crawled out of the warmth of bed.

Beating her brother into the bathroom, Catherine locked the door behind her and turned on the shower. As the small space filled with steam, she stripped from last night's clothes. She had stupidly fallen asleep before having the chance to clean herself up. Resting her sore bones and muscles on her plush mattress and with a bag of ice on the bridge of her nose had lulled her into a deep sleep.

There was no salvaging her t-shirt, so it went right into the wastebasket. Thankfully, Brien's shorts were free from bloodstains. Once she was naked, she stepped into the hot shower. The knots in her muscles melted like butter and the humid steam made it somewhat easier for her to breathe. Catherine wished she could stay in there forever, but her heart sank when she saw the crimson water swirl around her feet.

Since last night, she hadn't brought herself to look in the mirror, afraid to see who would be looking back at her. She knew her face wouldn't be in good shape and there would be no way to explain it if she did go to school. At least the last time Catherine showed up to school with black eyes, they had come courtesy of a British soldier. She knew that if she tried to use that excuse again not a single soul would believe it.

Brien banging on the bathroom door pulled Catherine back to reality. She hadn't realized she let her mind wander, so she quickly finished washing and got out. Her feet firmly planted on the bathmat, Catherine wrapped her body with a towel and wiped the steam off the mirror. When she saw her reflection, she wanted to puke.

Just as expected, she was almost unrecognizable. The swelling was far worse than Catherine had thought it would be, even after loading up in anti-inflammatories before dozing off. Seeing herself with deep purple bruises under her eyes only pissed Catherine off. What pissed her off, even more, was the knowledge that Patrick would go about his day as if nothing happened and she was the one being forced to walk around Belfast with the reminder of how bad his temper and drinking was. All she could do was suck it up and remind herself it would all be over soon.

When she finally emerged from the bathroom, Catherine found Brien waiting with his back resting against the wall. His eyes looked sad and tired when he raised his head to meet his sister's gaze. It was painfully obvious he hadn't gotten much sleep and the fact she had slept fairly well made Catherine feel beyond guilty.

"Where'd ya end up runnin' off to last night?" he asked.

For a quick moment, Catherine thought about not telling him where she had gone. Brien wasn't as keen to Jimmy O as most of the six counties. He was a man who relied on his intimidating persona and almost sadistic reputation to gain respect. Using fear in that aspect was something Brien could never admire. There was one thing he could never wrap his head around, and that was Catherine's relationship with Jimmy. Ever since she was a wee girl she had been drawn to him. Every girl needed a strong man in her life and that's what Brien chalked it up to. There was no doubting the numerous times Jimmy had been there to pick Catherine up when she fell. Most of the time though, he managed to be there in just enough time to catch Catherine before she could scrape her knees.

"I went to see Jimmy. He reset my nose, which was the worst experience of my life."

Surely, Brien couldn't be mad at her as long she was only there for medical attention. Ever since Brien had crudely pointed out the fact Catherine spent most of her free time with Jimmy, she felt as though she had to keep that part of her life secret. Considering how glued to the hip the siblings had been most of their lives, it killed Catherine to do so. Although every time the small amount of guilt found its way to peck at her, Catherine reminded herself about how Brien was keeping his affiliation with the Belfast charter of the Sons of Anarchy from her.

"You stayin' home today?" He hated seeing her face is that condition. It only made him want to storm into his parent's bedroom and drag his father out of bed, wailing on the insufferable bastard until he looked as bad as Catherine.

The awkward dance of conversation they were doing made Catherine want to crawl out of her skin. She despised the first few days following a blowout fight as no one wanted to acknowledge what happened. When the bruises faded and cuts healed, only then would everyone in the household begin to go about life as normal.

Wanting the uncomfortableness to end, Catherine only nodded and began her descent back to her bedroom. She knew this was only a phase, that in no time they would go back to being each other's best friend, a partner in crime. For now, she needed to be alone.

To keep up appearances, Catherine still dressed in her school uniform. She was in the final stretch of having to wear the solid maroon skirt and blazer, and the striped button-down blouse she loathed with a passion. After shimmying into the opaque black tights, Catherine sat down at her vanity to brush out her hair and delicately apply concealer and foundation to mask the discoloration. For the most part, she did a decent job. Once she was pleased with her work, Catherine laced up her worn black leather Dr. Marten oxfords. Grabbing her backpack, Catherine left her room just as Brien emerged from his.

She waved her hand in front of her face and coughed when she was hit with the cloud of spicy deodorant spray. "A little heavy on the Lynx, there Bri. The goal is to get Saoirse near ya, not send her runnin'."

"Fuck off," Ryan chuckled, pushing past Catherine for the stairs.

She followed him, taunting him about his love for Saoirse Fogerty every step of the way to the kitchen. The laughing and light-hearted teasing came to an abrupt end once Catherine and Ryan came face to face with Patrick. Their father sat in his usual spot at the head of the kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee and a plate piled high with rashers, eggs, and slices of griddle bread in front of him. The siblings looked at one another, silently agreeing that the only reason they're going to sit down at the table was to appease Olivia.

Catherine half-collapsed into her chair, with Brien across from her. Immediately the teenage boy began filling his mouth with rasher slices, while she remained more reserved. Patrick had his hand on the table but quickly withdrew it to his lap when he noticed Catherine staring at the lacerations on his knuckles. She wanted to reach for her napkin and scrub off the makeup covering the bruises his split knuckles had given her, but the swelling spoke loudly enough.

Clearing his throat, Patrick gestured towards the dish of scrambled eggs with his fork. "You should eat, Catherine."

Catherine tossed her long, damp hair over her shoulders and turned to her mother, not wanting the even acknowledge Patrick's presence.

"I'm not very hungry Ma. Ya mind if I leave? I've got a bit of homework to finish before assembly."

Everyone at the table knew Catherine was lying. For the last twelve years, Brien had been making fun of his sister for being the kind of student who got their homework done and out of the way on Friday afternoon. Her eagerness to get to school that Monday morning was because she was uncomfortable around Patrick and Olivia shot her husband a death glare. All she wanted was a little civility in her family. Setting her teacup on the saucer, Olivia said nothing and just gestured to the front door as she really couldn't blame her daughter for wanting to be out of the house.

Watching Catherine shoot up from the table and kiss her mother goodbye on the cheek, Patrick could feel his heart stop beating when she skipped over him. Every weekday morning, Catherine never left for school without giving Patrick a hug and kiss, so watching her walk right past him was a kick in the gut. He knew he screwed up and he wasn't sure how to fix it. Running a hand through his dyed jet black hair, Patrick pushed away from the table and approached Catherine as she put on her peacoat and scarf.

"Where ya goin'?"

Patrick crossed his arms over his chest and rested his shoulder on the wall. He knew his daughter well enough to know she had something up her sleeve.

Catherine didn't think she owed Patrick the truth. After what he did, he'd be lucky if she ever spoke to him again. Adjusting the straps to her backpack, Catherine took a deep breath and looked Patrick in the eye for the first time since last night. She hated that now he was sober, she could see the genuine remorse swirling within his fatigued green eyes.

"Jimmy's. He said I can hang out there today since Fi is gone with Kerrianne."

Patrick figured as much. He had been woken up early that morning with a phone call from another Army lad warning him to keep clear of Jimmy for the next few days. What rubbed Patrick the wrong way about that call was that Jimmy hadn't the balls to confront him personally about it and wanted to play tough-guy from the distance. The down-to-Earth teenager Patrick had met twenty years ago, was now letting his title of Commander go to his head and Jimmy was the last person he wanted Catherine around. But at this point, he wasn't even someone he wanted her around.

"You stay put at the house. Don't be goin' with him to Crossmaglen, you hear me? Keep your nose outta...the business."

Catherine wanted to laugh at Patrick's attempt of telling her to stay away from the Provos. In her near eighteen years of existence, she had never heard Patrick come outright and declare that he was a card-carrying member of the Irish Republican Army. Since its conception, membership, and affiliation with the paramilitary organization were never spoken about. Not even amongst family members who were themselves, soldiers. It was Patrick's several stints in Long Kesh, along with the rifles, cash, and fertilizer stashed about the O'Toole household that made it crystal clear to Catherine as to what her father's day-job was. Not to mention for the majority of Catherine's life, Olivia never seemed to bat an eye when her husband would disappear for sometimes weeks at a time.

Patrick couldn't be sure of exactly what his daughter was up to when she spent so many of her after school hours with Jimmy. He wasn't even sure if Catherine had been inducted or not. If he asked, she wouldn't answer. Little did Catherine know, Patrick had tossed her bedroom less than two weeks ago when he had a gut feeling she was hiding pistols and cash for Jimmy. While he hadn't found exactly what he was looking for, Patrick did come across a copy of the _Green Book_ stashed away in a floorboard under her bed. Catherine having the training manual only meant the day where she would take her oath and be presented with a black beret was probably imminent.

And, had Patrick picked up the board directly to the left of the one he found the _Green Book _under, he would have discovered he was correct in his intuition. As her father told her to stay away from the Provos, all Catherine could think about was the .22 pistol and four-grand in cash resting peacefully in the dark confines of the floor under her bed.

"It'll be junk food and trash television all day. I promise, Da."

The way Catherine smiled up at Patrick reminded him of when she was a child. Innocent and full of life. What scared him most though, was the matching smile in her big blue eyes. When it came to Catherine, the old saying, "when Irish eyes are smiling, they're usually up to something," stood beyond true in his daughter's case.

"Don't give Jimmy any trouble," he warned, before unfolding his arms and unlocking the door for Catherine.

Finding the front door unlocked, Catherine walked right in and toed her shoes off on the rug. She dropped her backpack to the floor and hung up her coat, scarf, and blazer on a hook on the wall. The tantalizing smells of breakfast teased Catherine and she wasted no time scuffling into the kitchen. She found Jimmy standing in front of the stove with his back turned to her. Not even nine in the morning and he was already dressed sharply in a black button-down, which was tucked into black slacks.

"Ya hungry?"

"Aye," she groaned, sitting at the table. "Starvin'"

Jimmy plated two fried eggs and a couple of slices of toast before setting it down in front of her. She grabbed the fork closest to her and immediately dug in.

"I never took ya as the domestic type." Catherine tore a piece of toast to sop up the runny yolk.

Sitting down in front of his plate, Jimmy rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "Contrary to what ya may hear, I can take care of myself."

All Catherine did was shake her head and chuckle as she turned her full attention to her food. Considering it had been almost a full day since she last had a meal, Catherine didn't make a single peep as she destroyed her eggs and toast. She was consumed; she hadn't noticed that Jimmy was staring at her, trying to get a glimpse of her face. He wasn't sure if the horrible puffiness under her eyes came from her broken nose alone or a combination of exhaustion. Being the type of person who ran herself ragged and refused to slow down, Jimmy considered crushing a few sleeping tablets into a cup of tea for her. He wondered how long it had been since she last had a full nights sleep.

Before he had a chance to break the silence and ask her, Catherine spoke first.

"Are you headed to south Armagh today?"

_Thank you, Paddy, _Jimmy thought.

Catherine kept her head down and avoided eye contact with Jimmy at all costs. She knew better than to bring it up. She was to keep her lip zipped and only speak of it when Jimmy brought it up first. While she had braced herself for the lecture Catherine was sure would follow her question, it never came. Instead, Jimmy continued eating his breakfast, never once breaking his concentration.

"Ya wanna come with?"

Taken back by such surprise, Catherine forgot how to speak. She never thought she would get this far. Up until that point, Jimmy was quick to shut her down if she asked to join. To him, letting her down taught patience and discipline. This time he would make an exception as it was no ordinary drop. Plus, Jimmy knew this would be the perfect way to see whether or not Catherine's head was truly in the cause.

He knew her heart was in the right place, but her mind...not so much. She still held on to the words of pacifism, which were passed on to her by the Sisters at St. Dominic's. Jimmy had been none too pleased when he found out what Catherine had been learning at that school and he had to step his game up to remind her why the Provos fought in the first place.

"Aye!" She could hardly contain her excitement. "You'll let me come with you?"

Jimmy nodded and Catherine sprang from the chair before wrapping her arms around him and breathlessly saying, "thank you," over and over.

Dropping his fork, Jimmy reached down and tugged on the hem of her maroon skirt. "Go change your clothes before I change my mind."

With a hop, skip, and a jump, Catherine took off to fetch her change of clothes from her backpack. Jimmy could only chuckle and shake his head at the sound of her heavy footsteps pounding up the stairs to the bathroom.

Once in the bathroom, Catherine flipped on the light as she closed and locked the door behind her. Onto the vanity, she tossed her jeans, t-shirt, and wool sweater, and immediately began to undress from her uniform. After unzipping her skirt and letting it pool around her feet, Catherine bent down to retrieve it from the floor. It was then her eyes fell upon the bloodstains on the well-used linoleum. Those dark stains had been left behind from her and she noticed Jimmy's shirt from the previous night was stuffed inside the wastebasket, like hers at home.

Instead of focusing on the violence that had brought Catherine to Jimmy in the first place, she chose to replay the other event that had taken place in that small space. Rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, Catherine fell against the wall. She closed her eyes just briefly to bring back the visions of Jimmy standing behind her, his large and rough hands caressing the soft skin of her belly. As she ran her fingertips along the waistband of her tights, Catherine walked her fingers slowly inside of them in search of the familiar pulse of her core. So badly did Catherine wish she could have his fingers and mouth dance upon her flesh once again. Just as she found the part of her body she sought, she quickly pulled her hand from her tights and panties when the jarring ring of the telephone downstairs broke her tunnel vision.

"Pull yourself together," she told herself.

Once dressed in her worn Levi's, undershirt, and royal blue Aran sweater, Catherine exited the bathroom. Holding her folded uniform tightly against her chest, she could hear Jimmy was still on the phone in the kitchen. Knowing she was being noisy, Catherine peaked her head through the cracked door of a dimly lit room across from the bathroom. She instantly realized it was his office. The desk was fairly neat and clear of clutter, the black leather chair shined. A large and sophisticated safe was tucked in the corner adjacent to the desk, with an armoire directly across.

Bravely walking inside, Catherine grazed the photos which were propped up on the armoire. Her stomach lurched at the ones of Fiona and Kerrianne. One photo, in particular, caught her attention which led her to pick up the frame. All four men had their faces covered with balaclavas which made it impossible for Catherine to make any identifications. They were dressed head to toe in khaki camouflage—loose-fitting trousers and jackets—with their precious Armalites pointed straight to the sky in their right hands.

"That's me...right there."

Catherine almost jumped out of her skin when Jimmy's voice rang out behind her. His finger pointing to the second man on the left. She suddenly had the fear of God in her, knowing this full well was a major invasion of privacy. But Jimmy kept calm and continued talking.

"Must'a been about twenty-two; just got out of the British Army. That was a fairly quiet year."

He pointed out her father and Michael McKeavey.

"Who's that?" She pointed to the last unidentified man.

Jimmy took the photo from her hands and set it back on the armoire while clearing his throat. "Filip."

She fought the urge to ask Jimmy why he and no one else in Belfast spoke of her uncle anymore. It had been about seven years since her mother's brother had left Northern Ireland, and she couldn't understand why he had up and left in the first place. For most of her youth, Catherine had been Filip and Jimmy's shadow, wanting to follow the two men no matter where they went and what they did. Catherine couldn't recall a day where those two men weren't together and then it seemed like one day it all suddenly fell apart. No one had bothered to explain to the devastated eleven-year-old why her beloved Uncle Filip had up and left without even a goodbye. Or why Fiona had moved-in with Jimmy, and he took over the role of rearing Kerrianne.

She had found out through Brien that Filip had patched in with the original charter of the Sons of Anarchy. It didn't register with her that if Filip was alive and well, living in America, why her mother mourned Filip as if he had passed on.

Catherine watched Jimmy carefully as he walked over to his desk and opened the very bottom drawer. He pulled out an orange envelope and gestured for her as he sat on the corner of the desk, removing the stack of photos from inside. Standing between his legs, Catherine felt Jimmy snake his arms around her so he could hand them over to her.

"Jesus," she gasped upon seeing the first photo. "I remember that day like it was yesterday."

Catherine stared down at the ten-year-old version of herself, dressed in khaki camouflage pants and a black long-sleeved shirt. Her orange-red hair was pulled back into a single French braid, her smile was wide as she had one arm wrapped around her oldest brother, Liam. In her right hand, an AR-18. Jimmy's Armalite rifle.

The next photo made her heart utterly melt. Dressed in the same pants but a t-shirt instead, Jimmy was crouched behind Catherine, his hands over hers, showing the proper firing position. It had been the first time she ever held a rifle—or any firearm for that matter—and by how comfortable she had been around the weapons, Jimmy knew she would follow her father's footsteps. While Patrick worked with Liam on his technique, Jimmy worked with Catherine, and by the end of the evening, she was emptying magazines with both accuracy and precision.

"One of these days, I just may be a better shot than you," she joked.

With her back turned to him, Jimmy took that as his opportunity to raise his eyebrows and shake his head. He had once worn the distinguished tan beret of the special forces in Her Majesty's Armed Forces, where he had been trained as a sniper. While Jimmy passed along most of his skill to Catherine, she would never be able to hit a target nearly two miles away, as he could. For the first four years of the 1990s, Patrick had spent some time with the Crossmaglen battalion of the south Armagh Brigade, when they began their sniper operation.

Three men who Jimmy had trained beside in basic had unfortunately been deployed to Northern Ireland for Operation Banner, and once he had them lined up in his scope, he would hesitate for split second before pulling the trigger.

Catherine pulled Jimmy from his trance, as he was thinking back to the bloodiest days of the Troubles.

"I'm itchin' to get my hands on a Barrett M90. Too bad the lads down in south Armagh had to turn their rifles over with the ceasefire. You've only trained me with the semi-auto and I think it would be so cool to try a bolt-action."

She placed the photos on the desk and turned to face Jimmy. Catherine looked every ounce of Patrick O'Toole, but it was Filip Telford who spoke.

Jimmy shook all thoughts of Filip from his mind as he rested his hands on Catherine's hips. He had a sweet surprise up his sleeve for her. "Why do ya think I'm even goin' down 'to Crossmaglen?"

She didn't have an answer.

Nudging her back, Jimmy hopped off his desk and stopped in front of the safe. As he twisted the dial of the combination lock, Catherine had no idea it was her birthday that opened the heavy door. It was the first time Jimmy was trusting Catherine enough to allow her a peek at his arsenal. While Catherine knew Jimmy was working under the Quartermaster General now, where he supplied the weapons and no longer used them, she was still taken back by the collection he built up. More rifles and pistols than she could count. Thousands, upon thousands of rounds of ammunition. Not to mention the handsome stacks of foreign money.

She worried about him. If the RUC were to raid the house, he'd never see the outside of a prison cell again.

Squatting down, Jimmy pulled out a bulky black case. He popped the two latches on the side closest to Catherine and pulled the lid open to reveal the exact Barret M90 rifle she had been speaking of.

"Holy shit," Catherine placed her hand over her mouth before kneeling to run her fingers along it.

Nine months ago, the snipping campaign in south Armagh had come to an end. Under the terms of the ceasefire, the battalions had been required to turn over their rifles but two of the Barret's were unaccounted for. Catherine only knew that because it had been plastered all over the news for the last several months. Never once did she think Jimmy would be the one who had it in possession. It didn't need to be said aloud for Catherine to figure out that One-Shot Paddy wasn't finished just yet.

Her stomach dropped as the reality of the Troubles set in for her. Wondering how many men Jimmy had killed with that weapon almost made her sick.

Catherine looked Patrick in the eye, "you're not takin' me out there to-"

He stopped her before she could finish her thought. Jimmy knew Catherine had always struggled with the career path he'd chosen for himself. She never wanted to believe that the man she had been so head-over-heels for could be capable of such violence. Catherine refused to believe the rumors on the streets as he had never been anything but warm, adoring and devoted to her. That was why she held Jimmy to such high regard and couldn't help the deep affection from blossoming as she grew older and closer to him. He was her hero. Her safety net; her haven. Always there to protect her from the bad whenever it came.

"No, this is purely target practice." Jimmy reached out to Catherine and caressed her cheek with his knuckles. "I just wanna have fun with my girl today."


	3. Fighting Men of Crossmaglen

"SNIPER AT WORK," read the highway sign as they crossed into Crossmaglen.

Driving straight through the populated city itself, Jimmy continued south on Cullaville Road before turning off onto a beaten path. The butterflies in Catherine's stomach were working overtime as a house at the end of the path came into sight. This would mark the first time she was meeting volunteers in a different brigade without Patrick by her side and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't intimidated. Not having gotten the approval of the Council to be formally sworn in yet, Catherine knew the men of South Armagh would be watching her carefully; sizing her up. She trusted that Jimmy wouldn't have allowed her to come with if she wouldn't get the seal of approval from the other Provos.

As they pulled up to the house, Catherine took a deep, calming breath to settle her nerves. Four Irishmen stepped out on to the porch and she couldn't help but chuckle at the fact they were identically dressed: dark wash jeans, thick camouflage jackets, and flat caps. By now, Catherine was certain Northern Ireland was keeping the camouflage industry booming.

Feeling the anxiousness radiating off Catherine, Jimmy grabbed her hand and held it tight.

"Ye've got the blokes in Belfast eatin' from the palm of yer hand. Ye'll have these lads doin' the same before the day is gone."

She hoped he was right.

There was one piece of information Jimmy was hiding from her that he knew would calm her down, but he decided to keep it to himself. While he hated watching her feel like an outsider, he didn't want to tell her that over the past week, the Council finally voted her into the ranks. He wanted to keep it a secret and have her formally sworn in on New Year's Eve; her eighteenth birthday. There was no better way he could think of for her to enter adulthood than to have that beret placed upon her head.

Following Jimmy's lead, Catherine unclasped her seatbelt and stepped out into the damp winter air. As the four men jumped off the porch to greet Jimmy with a series of handshakes and brotherly slaps to the back, Catherine minded her own business and grabbed the duffle he had put her in charge of from the back seat. After sitting for over an hour, it felt good to stretch her legs. Feeling slightly awkward and out of place, Catherine inched her way towards Jimmy, not wanting to stray too far.

"Gentlemen," Jimmy gestured towards Catherine, which caught her attention. "Catherine O'Toole."

As Jimmy made the introductions, their names sounded familiar to her.

"Ye Paddy O'Toole's daughter?" Sean Campbell asked.

Sean had been Patrick's cellmate in Long Kesh. He could remember how the young father glued photos of Catherine to the wall and never stopped talking about how he couldn't wait to hold his wee baby girl.

Catherine swallowed hard, "aye, the one and only."

What confused her the most was how he just nodded and proceeded to walk away. She realized the fighting men of Crossmaglen were sizing her up and that did nothing to calm the butterflies.

Placing his hand on her lower back, Jimmy ushered Catherine into the house and up the stairs so he could change out of his dress clothes. The wood creaked with every step they took and he pointed her in the direction of a vacant bedroom at the end of the hall. Once inside, Catherine tossed the duffle on the bed, watching curiously as Jimmy began to dig through it.

"If yer gonna shoot Provo weapons," he pulled out a pair of dark camouflage pants, a black sweater, and brand new, shiny Dr. Marten boots. "Ye gotta look the part, a chuisle."

Catherine beamed with pure joy and wrapped her arms around Jimmy's neck for a tight hug. The simple gesture meant the world to her. Jimmy knew she had worn such holes into the previous pants she owned they had to be thrown away. Even though he had been handsomely compensating Catherine for the work she had been doing for him over the last year, she had been saving nearly every cent of it, looking to move out on her own the moment she graduated in the spring. She was also helping Olivia and Patrick pay off Patrick's legal fees after he had arrested the previous year.

Expensive boots and new clothes weren't at the top of her expense list.

With everything she had done for him without question thus far, she earned the boots, Jimmy concluded. Seeing her light up brighter than Christmas morning only made it that much sweeter for him.

"Thank ye, so much." Her words were muffled as her mouth was pressed against his shoulder.

The sweet fragrance of her shampoo seared into Jimmy's memory as he kissed her head. Catherine broke from the hug, excited to get into her new clothes.

While unbuttoning his dress shirt, Jimmy didn't attempt to be sly in watching Catherine undress. All the blood drained from his head and circulated below his waist as Catherine pulled her sweater and undershirt over her head. The bra she wore was lace and unlined, but the deep green color of the material hindered his chance to see any nipple. It made Jimmy feel like a dirty pervert when all he could think about was kneading her heavy breasts. He just about died when she wiggled her hips out of her jeans to reveal she was wearing matching panties.

Catherine turned around and reached over the bed to grab the pants Jimmy had bought for her. With her back to him, she didn't see how he went bug eyed when he saw the emerald lace barely covered her shapely ass. Jimmy marveled at how the deep green tone emphasized the creaminess of her unblemished skin. Taking a deep breath, Jimmy crossed himself and quietly huffed, "forgive me, Father, for I'm about 'ta sin."

"Jimmy!" She squealed, as he pushed her down on the bed and rolled her over. When he crawled over her body, Catherine's heart nearly exploded it was beating so hard and fast. He ran a hand up her abdomen to her neck, where he grabbed the side of it firmly to keep her head steady.

Lowering his lips to her ear, Jimmy licked the shell of it before speaking lowly. "Ye've no idea how fuckin' insane ya make me. I haven't been able 'ta stop thinkin' about ya since last night."

His voice reminded her of gravel and her mind was sent spinning when she felt his tongue lick the length of her throat. Catherine swore she saw stars when he traced the wet mark along the crotch of her panties.

_What the hell happened to the events of the previous night being a mistake and shouldn't have happened?_ Catherine thought as she ran her fingers through his hair.

She wasn't going to open her mouth and question him; she finally had Jimmy where she wanted him. His moral battle wasn't her problem and she sure as hell wasn't about to open her mouth and ask what made him come around.

Inching back down her body, Jimmy slunk off the mattress and onto his knees. Gripping her magnificent calves, he gave one good yank to bring her closer to him. A million thoughts were running through Catherine's head but, the feeling of Jimmy's hands caressing her length of legs and hips pretty much wiped her hard-drive clean. She lightly bit down on her long thumb nail when she felt him ease her panties off of her.

While it was by no means how she ever envisioned her first time having a man go down on her, that didn't bother her in the slightest. A firm believer in fate, she knew life was messy and things happened when they did for a reason.

Tossing her panties onto the bed, Jimmy pushed Catherine's legs apart where immediately he began to kiss the inside of her hairless thighs. His head was swimming from her intoxicatingly sweet and musky scent and it overloaded his senses. She was shaved which only added to his eagerness to dive in. Reaching beneath her to cup her ass and bringing his face to her, Jimmy mentally grinned with satisfaction as he heard Catherine let out a shaky, "fuck."

The foreign sensation of Jimmy's hot, wet tongue lapping her pulsating core nearly made Catherine explode.

Reality shattered as Jimmy was teased with only a single taste. They were interrupted by a fist pounding on the locked door. A voice with a heavy Cork accent rang out,

"Jimmy, boy! We're all set 'ta go, just walk on over when 'yer done."

Just as fast as they had been interrupted, they heard heavy footsteps trot down the stairs. Catherine wasn't sure which part of the entire situation to address first so she spoke the first thing that came to her mind.

"Is it jus' me or do people from Cork speak a few octaves higher than the rest of the country?"

At least she earned herself a throaty laugh from Jimmy.

* * *

Grabbing the bipod and balancing it along the back of his neck, Jimmy grabbed the bag stuffed to the gills with ammunition and kicked the back door of the SUV closed. He did something that shocked Catherine to her core. As they began their descent down the gravel drive to the empty field, Jimmy grabbed Catherine's hand, lacing his fingers with hers. She dipped her head to hide the fact her cheeks had lit up bright red.

They walked hand-in-hand to the middle of a field and Catherine scoped out the targets that had been set up several hundred yards away. Jimmy snapped his fingers to catch her attention and pointed to the several cases beside him as he set up the Barrett rifle.

She knew exactly what to do and without having to be told, Catherine inspected the other Armalites. After she snapped in the magazines and made sure they were all chambered and ready to go, Jimmy introduced her to the new toy.

Catherine had a hard time focusing as Jimmy walked her through the firing process. The man oozed testosterone and she couldn't ignore the damp heat between her legs. She licked her lips hungrily at the sight of Jimmy's thick thighs testing the strength of the inseam of his pants. Her eyes followed the slight bulges of his biceps, leaving her to wonder just how strong he truly was. Not to mention, she loved that he was wearing his hair slightly longer these days. Although his sideburns had started to show signs of graying, Catherine wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through those chocolate locks.

Shaking the lust from her head, Catherine concentrated on Jimmy's instructions. She knew that if she didn't and she screwed up, it would be the last time for a long time she even so much as looked at a firearm. He was lying prone on his stomach, the butt of the rifle in the pocket of his shoulder.

"Ya close yer eyes and open 'em. If yer not staring directly down the scope when ya open, yer not positioned properly." Jimmy instructed. He held the position for a moment as Catherine walked around him, studying, committing it to memory. She moved behind him and crossed her arms over her chest as he pulled the bolt, chambering a round.

Jimmy took a deep breath, steadying his body and mind. Being left-handed, he closed his right eye to line up the watermelon in the crosshair of his scope. Jimmy mumbled, "O my God, I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed, let not my enemies triumph over me."

He curled his finger around the trigger and pulled.

Catherine instantly regretted her decision not to put her earplugs in. The thundering burst of the round exploding from the muzzle startled her, causing her to slightly jump. Jimmy smiled jubilantly at the sight of the absolutely obliterated watermelon. Catherine would be lying if she said she wasn't impressed. The target had been set up nearly two-hundred yards away and he hit the watermelon dead-on like it was nothing. She hadn't seen him do that in nearly a decade.

That was what Catherine aspired to be.

Even though it was a fantastic shot, she still had to bust his balls. "Still got it, ol' man."

"Fuck ye," Jimmy shot back as he pushed himself up to his feet. "Yer turn. I'm gonna have ya just shoot it first, 'ta get a feel. Don't worry about hittin' anythin'."

Catherine eyed the watermelon Jimmy destroyed as she slid one hot pink foam earplug in. She remained stoic and looked Jimmy in the eye.

"Give me a target."

"Caitie," Jimmy started.

He recognized the expression on her face; she was feeling the pressure. Feeling that she had something to prove to him when that was the farthest from the truth. It had only been a year since she started training and Jimmy didn't expect her to match the skill he had learned in the military. He didn't want to deal with her shitty and frustrated attitude when she missed. Jimmy never understood why she put such high expectations on herself but nonetheless, it was a trait he greatly admired. She never settled on being second best.

Not wanting to fight her on it, Jimmy just shook his head and signaled to the two men in the distance to set up another watermelon. Catherine put in her other earplug as she laid on her belly. She felt her knees sink into the soft earth while she adjusted the butt of the rifle so it sat in the pocket of her shoulder. Jimmy reminded her to keep her heels planted so she turned her feet outwards. Heading his instructions, Catherine tucked and tilted her head, and then closed her eyes, quickly popping them open. When she found herself staring directly down the scope, she knew she was properly in position.

Pulling the bolt, Catherine ejected Jimmy's spent casing and loaded a fresh round. She could feel Jimmy's intimidating eyes bearing down on her but, she refused to allow it to mess with her concentration.

Just as she pushed the last bit of air from her lungs, Catherine pulled the trigger.

With his arms crossed over his chest, Jimmy refused to let the expression of shock and awe show a single trace on his face as the watermelon exploded. He couldn't believe she managed to hit the watermelon one-hundred-and-fifty yards away.

Sean Campbell smacked Jimmy's bicep as he lit a cigarette. "She grew up wit' Paddy and Filip; of course she was gonna hit that damn target."

* * *

Catherine was as quiet as a church mouse when she snuck into the house sometime after two in the morning. Closing and locking the door behind her, Catherine hung up her damp coat and tucked her shoes away in the closet. Just as she slid the closet door closed, the light in the living room popped on, scaring her half to death.

"Christ, Da," Catherine placed a hand on her chest, feeling her spike of adrenaline enhancing all of her senses. "Ye scared me, ya did."

Patrick didn't say a word to Catherine. He simply leaned forward in his chair, placing his forearms on his knees as he looked at the ground. He shook his head trying to figure out what he was going to say; staying out five hours past curfew on a school night was completely out of character for Catherine. She was with a boy, he knew that much for sure, and he was praying that male was Lorcan McInnes and not Jimmy.

When Patrick ran a hand through his hair, Catherine noticed his orange roots standing out amongst the jet black strands. She would have to dye it again for him soon.

"Do I wanna know where ya were?" He asked.

Catherine saw the pained expression twist on her father's face. Once upon a time, she had been daddy's little girl and it was becoming harder for Patrick to watch Catherine fall down the same rabbit hole he had. Patrick felt like he was watching Catherine dangling into that hole, her fingers desperately clawing at the surface in an attempt save herself but, Jimmy O was stepping on her fingers and watching gleefully as she slowly let go.

In his thirty-seven years of life, Patrick had spent nearly a decade of them locked up in the cells of Long Kesh. Not only was he locked up on the day of Catherine's birth, but he would end up missing another five of her birthday's because he had been dodging warrants, hiding out in the Republic. He missed Christmases, and too many Easter Sundays to count. He also lived with the heavy guilt that on three occasions, Liam, Brien, and Catherine had to witness him being dragged from bed in the middle of the night, beaten in the street, and then arrested by the RUC.

He did not want what he's gone through to be Catherine's reality. She deserved to live out her days in freedom and not behind bars.

What burdened Patrick's soul the most, however, was the fact that no matter how hard he tried to keep Catherine off the same path he chose, it was his own actions that drove her to it. While to some degree Patrick blamed Filip for even bringing Jimmy O into his daughter's life, if he hadn't been in and out of Long Kesh when Catherine needed Patrick most, she never would have turned to Jimmy.

He had been serving a four-year stint for assault around the time Jimmy tried to kill Filip so even he was oblivious to what caused Jimmy to finally snap. A year ago when Catherine had been attacked on her walk home from school—the driving incident that led her to want to join the IRA—Patrick had been laying low in County Kerry after he found out he was wanted for questioning in a murder. Had he been at home and had he been a better father, Catherine would have gone to Patrick after her attack. He would have made sure Catherine never got a taste of the Provo life, which flowed thick in her Irish blood.

Pushing her hair out of her face, Catherine took a deep breath. She didn't want to lie to Patrick considering he had always been honest with her when she asked him questions. So, she figured she'd let him decide what he wanted to hear. "Ye want me 'ta say I was wit' Lorcan? Or do ya want the truth?"

If he wanted the truth, Catherine was more than willing to give it to him.

Patrick stood up, his knees popping in the process, and closed the empty space between the two of them. He rested his back against the wall in the hallway. As much as he wanted Catherine to tell him she had been with her quasi-boyfriend, Patrick needed to hear every gritty detail of the truth. He needed to know just how much trouble she was in.

"The God's honest truth."

"I went 'ta Crossmaglen wit' Jimmy. We got a bite and then hung out at his."

She didn't hesitate nor did she break her eye contact, but Patrick knew there was more and he feared it. He couldn't decide if he wanted to know just how deep Catherine's relationship with Jimmy was. Hearing it would hurt like hell but Patrick needed to make sure he could get ahead of whatever hell Jimmy would put her through. Patrick couldn't bring himself to come right out and ask as he had with his two sons, so he tried a new tactic and try to bring both his and her guards down.

"What'd ya do in Crossmaglen?"

Catherine smiled, "shot a Barrett M90. It was a bloody grand time, Da. The watermelons we used as targets just absolutely exploded. Of course, Jimmy had me workin' more wit' the AR."

"Is this really what ya want? Bein' a volunteer."

"Aye, it is."

Patrick could only nod. He decided at that moment that he was taking over Catherine's fate in the IRA. He would contact his commander in the morning to get the ball rolling; make sure she stayed on the Falls Road and under the same command as him in the second battalion. There was no way in hell Patrick would allow Catherine to end up under Jimmy in the third.

"Jimmy," was all Patrick managed to get out. He was having a hard time forcing the words out. "What are ya doin' wit' Jimmy?"

"I don't…I don't understand,"

Patrick cut Catherine off and just blurted it out. "Ya foolin' around? Shaggin'?"

Catherine's face turned beet red from embarrassment the second those words left Patrick's mouth. All she wanted to do was implode before the conversation could any worse for her. A year ago she had mercilessly made fun of Brien after he told her Patrick had cornered him to talk about the mechanics of safe sex. She now understood how her brother had felt.

"No," she answered quickly.

The defensive tone of her voice didn't go unheard by Patrick. He knew something happened that she wasn't willing to cop up to. If she wasn't willing to divulge, he wasn't going to push. Patrick planned on kicking Jimmy's ass regardless.


	4. Broken, Beat & Scarred

On Friday afternoon, Patrick stormed into the Short Strand pub where he knew Jimmy would be. The seething father roared, "O'Phelan!"

Patrick hated that smug grin plastered on Jimmy's face as he made his way out from the back of the pub. Never in his life had he wanted to bash a man's face in so badly. Jimmy wasn't dumb, he knew exactly why Patrick had come searching for a fight. He really couldn't blame Patrick as he would have done the same if the roles were reversed. Although, Jimmy would fully admit he enjoyed seeing the rise he got out of the temperamental father of three.

"Fancy seein' you on the east side of the river." Jimmy teased.

The only thing Patrick could do was roll his eyes. He wasn't interested in small talk so he got right to the point. Pointing his finger at Jimmy, Patrick told himself to keep calm. Having so badly screwed up his relationship with Catherine, he knew she would blame him if he were to give Jimmy the same black eyes he had given her.

"Stay the hell away from my daughter. Worry about your own goddamn family and keep your nose outta mine. Her future is none of your fuckin' business. So if this is the path she wants, I'll take care of it."

Jimmy stayed quiet for a moment, then he cocked his head to the side and huffed. "I suppose it's a bad time to tell you I got the votes last week. Just haven't found the right time to tell her."

Learning that was a bitter defeat for Patrick. Olivia had warned him months ago about the changes in Catherine's behavior and he chose to ignore it, hoping the appeal of it all would fade the moment she was nabbed by the RUC or a soldier. What concerned Patrick the most was that its appeal would probably never fade for her. This was something she was good at doing.

With Catherine under Jimmy's command, it wasn't the wrath of the British Army or the RUC that Patrick feared for Catherine, it was international governments. Jimmy would exploit Catherine's ability to be clandestine and charming, and send her around the world to do the dirty work with him. Transporting weapons through international borders would land her in prison—God knows where—for the rest of her natural life. Patrick would rather watch her die in the streets of Belfast than suffer such a fate.

But, the one thing that destroyed Patrick was the thought of what was to come next for Catherine. Jimmy prided himself on having the most loyal and disciplined volunteers the True Army had ever seen, and they didn't get there through praise and coddling. He relied on tactics that teetered the blurred lines of a war crime. They would be considered a clear transgression of human rights, yet no one stood up for the recruits he terrorized simply because they did their job and they did it extremely well.

Patrick's heart shattered into a million pieces as he imagined his daughter being subjected to the torturous initiation. If she made it through the mental breakdown, then Catherine would be given her black beret. Only to be sent away to county Kerry for six weeks of physical training.

"Anythin' happens to my girl, her blood is on your hands."

Jimmy couldn't believe Patrick didn't see the irony in his statement and he let out a dry cackle.

"As far as I'm concerned, the only person here with Catherine's blood on their hands is you."

Patrick physically recoiled at Jimmy's words. He knew it was nothing more than a sad attempt at a low blow, but it worked, nonetheless. The cuts on his knuckles tormented him every second of his day, serving as a painful reminder of how badly he screwed up.

"It is a shame how badly ya beat her face in, Paddy. That cute little nose'll never look the same. Ya know, she fell asleep last night after cryin' her eyes out. But havin' her in my arms." Jimmy took a deep breath as his brow furrowed. " She's gorgeous. We all know she won't be a virgin forever, so, I figured why not show her what it's like to be with a real man-"

Like any sensible father, Patrick snapped. He didn't care that Jimmy was a superior officer as he had taken it too far by speaking of his daughter like that. Grabbing Jimmy by the collar of his suit jacket, Patrick thrust him against the wall. Well aware there were five men ready to pounce on him the moment the first punch was thrown, Patrick tried to get his point across without a single blow.

"If I find out you've placed a single finger on Catherine Mary, I fuckin' promise ya no one'll ever find your body."

Jimmy couldn't tell if Patrick was bluffing or not. Unlike Filip, Patrick was far more unpredictable and would fly off the handle without a moment's notice. Evident by Catherine's face, he didn't care who he was wailing on; he let his emotions and fists take over. Jimmy decided it would be best to keep his mouth closed and not instigate Patrick any further. If one or both of the men would end up battered and bloody, the only person it would hurt was Catherine.

Pushing Patrick off of him, Jimmy straightened out his jacket. He wasn't about to show his men that Patrick's unstable temperament had sparked a bit of intimidation in him so, he found a way to play it off.

"The next time she shows up at my house with a broken nose and two black eyes, I fuckin' promise you it'll be the last time ya see her."

That was fair, Patrick thought.

"Go easy on her, Jimmy. Ya know you can trust her."

"Aye," Jimmy agreed. "But, I can't treat her differently because of who she is to me. Wouldn't send the right message to my men."

That wasn't what Patrick wanted to hear. "Today's her last before Christmas break. Come get her tonight and just get it fuckin' over with."

* * *

It was one-thirty in the morning when Patrick saw the headlights pull up in front of the house. He stubbed his cigarette out and got up unhurriedly, feeling as though time had stopped. From the front window, he watched as three men, plus Jimmy, exited the SUV and made their way up the path.

Patrick recognized the three young men—who were dressed in stolen RUC uniforms—from the South Armagh Brigade. None of the men in Belfast could bring themselves to do this to Catherine so, Jimmy outsourced.

"She's in her bed," Patrick croaked, letting them in. "First bedroom on the right."

Jimmy pipped in. "Her nose is broken. Go easy on her face."

The men simply nodded and started up the stairs. Jimmy and Patrick stood in silence near the front door. Neither man had anything to say to the other and this wasn't a time to pretend otherwise.

On cue, Catherine's blood-curdling scream shook the house on its foundation. Her shrill petrified cries of "Daddy," pierced Patrick like a thousand daggers. It utterly destroyed him that is was yet another event he couldn't protect her from. The thuds and rattles coming from the ceiling overhead was a clear indication that Catherine was fighting them. She was fighting back hard.

Jimmy stiffened when the Armagh men appeared at the top of the stairs. One of them was holding Catherine by the ankles, another had his arms hooked under her armpits. She was blindfolded with her hands cuffed behind her back, but that didn't stop her from thrashing and kicking.

As they carried her down the stairs, Patrick turned into the living room not being able to stomach much more. He choked back tears as she continued to call for him, Liam, and Brien. Her brothers never came to her aid as Patrick had made sure Olivia and the boys were gone for the night. He didn't want the scene of Catherine being dragged from her bed for her IRA initiation to be seared into their memories.

Ungracefully, Catherine was dropped on her back to the floor in the hall. Before she had a chance to move, her hips were straddled.

"Let's try this again," one of the Armagh men spoke in a convincingly fake Scouse accent. "Are ya Catherine O'Toole?"

"_If ya get arrested, never give 'em yer real name," _Catherine remembered Jimmy drilling into her.

She shook her head vigorously, the words could barely leave her throat she was breathing so heavily. "No! I'm Nicola McKenna, you've got the wrong girl!"

Jimmy sighed in relief of hearing her ramble off the name that was on her fake license. So far, she was holding up under the pressure but this was only the beginning.

Pádraig Flanagan—the man straddling her—cocked his fist back and offered a not so soft blow into Catherine's ribcage. The wind was instantly knocked out of her and she was so disoriented she didn't even bawl. Even though she was still fighting for half a breath, Pádraig wrapped his hand around her neck. Not tight enough to cut off her air supply, but enough to introduce more angst.

"Your fuckin' name!" He screamed.

Hot, fat tears bubbled out from under her blindfold and Patrick fell into a squat, a hand over his mouth to keep himself from saying a word. All he could do was watch helplessly and hope Jimmy would come to his senses and call it off. She didn't deserve this. Becoming fourth-generation IRA, Catherine knew how to handle herself in the wake of questioning. On several occasions, she had been accosted with questions about Patrick's whereabouts and never once did she let a single truth slip.

He wanted to grab Jimmy by the shoulders and shake him while shouting, "Stop this madness! She's a loyal girl. If they ever arrest her, they'll beat her 'ta death before she rats any of us out!"

But, he kept his mouth shut instead.

Catherine simply repeated what she had already said. She pleaded for them to let her go, that she had no idea what they were speaking about when they accused her of being an Irish Republican Army member. She played dumb when they asked her who Jimmy O'Phelan, Donny Shea, and Michael McKeavey were. Catherine even denied knowing Patrick and Liam. Nor did she fess up to knowing about the murder that took place in Cluan Place, even though Jimmy had put her in charge of stashing the weapon that was used.

With sad eyes, Connor Broderick looked at Jimmy. He offered a simple nod, giving them the okay to move forth with the plan. So, Connor handed Pádraig the unloaded pistol from his waistband. Patrick hung his head and Jimmy turned away, unable to watch as Pádriag whipped Catherine on the temple with the butt of the gun.

As thick blood drained from the rip in her flesh, it was lights out for Catherine.

* * *

Two days had passed, but for Catherine, it may have been a lifetime. When Jimmy and Patrick entered the quaint house tucked away in the countryside of South Armagh, they found the three men sitting around a card-table in the kitchen. They made not a single peep as they chain-smoked and passed a bottle of whiskey.

"How'd she do?" Jimmy asked. He swiped the bottle from Pádraig and guzzled several mouthfuls.

Patrick declined when Jimmy offered him a swig.

"Not a word from her, Jimmy. She's fuckin' earned her beret and our respect." Connor watched his cigarette burn in the ashtray. After what he did, he wasn't sure if he could ever bring himself to smoke again. "I'll take you to her."

Jimmy and Patrick followed Connor to the back of the house where he pulled open the basement door. It was eerily quiet as they eased down the steps, but once Connor turned the light on, that all changed.

"Please!" Catherine screamed at the top of her lungs. "I told ya I don't know anythin'."

She sat on the cold concrete floor in only her underwear and a t-shirt. A chain was wrapped around a pipe on the ceiling, securing the cuffs that held her arms above her head. She was sleep-deprived, and visibly trembling as she attempted to bring her knees to her chest. Still blindfolded, Catherine relied only on her sense of hearing to offer hints as to what was going on around her.

Slowly approaching his distraught daughter, Patrick couldn't blink back the silent tears that slid down his cheeks. He wiped them away instantly and shuttered as Catherine coward. She could sense someone was approaching her and tried her best to avoid any more physical abuse.

Patrick noticed the patches of severe bruising along the length of both her legs. He lifted her shirt to reveal the evidence of the sadism she had been subjected to over the last forty-eight hours. There were slashes crusted with dried blood along her sides. Patrick turned away when Jimmy slid her shirt up, showing distinct cigarette burns on her breasts and chest.

Kneeling beside her, Patrick untied the thick piece of fabric covering her eyes. She blinked hard and fast, allowing her sight to adjust to the light. Her soul had been sucked right out of her; her eyes were dark and dead. Patrick equated them to two deep holes in the snow. She was so exhausted and spent, she couldn't even muster the energy to react when she finally saw Patrick and Jimmy beside her.

After Connor had freed her hands from the cuffs, Jimmy attempted to pull her into his arms. He hadn't expected Catherine to ferociously push him away and dive straight into in Patrick's warm, familiar embrace.

Seeing Jimmy there made all the pieces fall into place. He had given the order for this to happen. He didn't trust her; her devotion needed to be tested and she couldn't understand why.

The force at which she catapulted into her father's arms caused Patrick to fall back onto his ass. She nearly strangulated him with the vice-grip of her arms wrapped around his neck. The sounds of her ear-piercing sobs echoed off the walls in the basement as she replayed the whole ordeal in her head.

Jimmy watched hollowly as Patrick rubbed Catherine's back, his cheek firmly planted to the crown of her head.

"I've got ya, a thaisce." Patrick soothed. "It's all over, I promise."


	5. Glory to the New-Born King!

**Christmas Day, 1997 – Belfast, Northern Ireland**

Bags full of presents were ripping at the seams as the O'Toole's stepped into the coziness of Fiona and Jimmy's home. Hugs and kisses to cheeks, and exuberant wishes of "Merry Christmas," were exchanged before Kerrianne excitedly led Liam into the living room to stash the gifts under the tree.

"Ya spoil her, Liv." Fiona snickered to her sister-in-law, referencing the abundance of packages which bore Kerrianne's name. "Where's Catherine?"

Patrick exchanged a bitter glance with Jimmy as he hung up his wife's coat. "She's feelin' a wee bit under the weather. Decided to stay home."

Fiona didn't second guess Patrick's lie about Catherine's absence, but Jimmy did. It had been over ten days since Catherine had seen or spoken to him and the guilt was building uncontrollably. Never in his life had Jimmy seen Catherine as hysterical as she had been following her initiation. He pushed her to such an edge, Patrick told Jimmy she was reconsidering her decision to volunteer altogether.

By a miracle, Patrick had managed to talk Catherine into attending midnight Mass at St. Matts, but she had been forced to sit beside Jimmy as the church had been packed to capacity. When she crawled into Patrick and Olivia's bed that morning following gifts, Patrick couldn't say "no," when she asked to skip dinner at Jimmy and Fiona's.

Her not showing up was a low blow for Jimmy. He was trying desperately to get her to speak to him so he could make amends for what happened, but she refused to acknowledge his existence. Truth was, Jimmy did feel terrible for what he put her through. Instead of being focused on how it would have looked to his men, he should have considered what that hell would do to her. Unlike most of his recruits, Catherine lived a hard life. She understood what it meant to be IRA, understood the violence that shaped their worldview, and was devoted to the bone. He let his unease about ending up in prison or dead take over and in the process, he damaged the only person he truly loved in the world.

Devastated, Jimmy excused himself into the kitchen needing to be alone. As he stood with his back resting on the edge of the counter, he was numb listening to Fiona, Olivia, Patrick, Liam, and Brien, chatter and laugh about nonsense. His heart was in misery not hearing her contagious laughter, her bubbly, feminine voice. He would kill just to see a glimpse of her sincere smile, or those piercing blue eyes that always beamed with radiance.

If she wasn't going to come to him, he'd have to go to her.

Reaching for the bottle of whiskey on the counter, Jimmy twisted the cap and poured it down the sink. Jogging to the living room, he waved the empty whiskey bottle at Fiona.

"We're outta Bushmills. Donny said he's got a spare bottle so I'm gonna run over there and grab it."

"That's odd." Fiona watched Jimmy grab his coat and keys. "Could'a sworn I bought one yesterday."

Without even a goodbye, he was out the door and on his way to the Lower Falls.

* * *

Knocking on the door, Jimmy was relieved when Catherine opened it. The moment she saw his face, however, she attempted to slam it. He was quicker than her and placed his foot in the opening to prevent it from closing. Jimmy was the last person she wanted to speak to, let alone see. When she realized he wasn't getting that message, she took off up the stairs to barricade herself in her room.

Hot on her heels, Jimmy called out after her. He kicked the door shut behind him and then took the steps two at a time. Reaching her room, he twisted the knob to find it was locked.

"C'mon, open the fuckin' door." He slammed an open palm to the white wood.

"Fuck you," she spat. Her venomous words were laced with anger he didn't think she was capable of. "We've nothin' to talk about.

Catherine wasn't interested in anything Jimmy had to say. After what happened, the betrayal she harbored ran so deep for him, she was questioning his place in her life. She was also reconsidering whether or not the True Army was for her. If they were willing to take it that far before she had even been sworn in, Catherine couldn't imagine what they would do once she was.

"It was never personal, ya need to know that."

It wasn't enough for her to completely forgive him, but it did plant the seed of doubt. She sniffled and his voice rang out again.

"I'm so sorry, Catherine. I'm so fuckin' sorry. Ya didn't deserve it but I had 'ta know how you'd hold up."

When he heard the lock pop open, Jimmy pushed the door open and found Catherine standing in the middle of her room. She wiped the tears from her red and bloated eyes with the back of her hand. Watching her breakdown over something he'd done to her gripped Jimmy's heart with fleeting remorse. The aftermath of initiation was never pretty and Catherine was no exception. She was, however, beyond resilient and while she didn't see it now, it would prepare her for the long life ahead.

In four steps, Jimmy approached her. There was nothing he wanted more than to have her in his arms, but she didn't feel the same. As he reached out to her, Catherine quickly slapped his hands away.

"Don't fuckin' touch me." She lashed.

Taking a ragged deep breath, Catherine sat at the foot of her bed. Jimmy rubbed his hands over his face to hide the gut-wrenching sight of her upset. She was never one to outright show her emotions, especially when plagued with melancholy. The fact Catherine was brazenly allowing the tears to fall in front him was a sore reality check as to how badly she was hurting.

"Do ya not trust me?"

At the sound of her dense mousy voice, Jimmy dropped to his knees in front of Catherine. He grabbed her hands, and much to his astonishment she didn't pull back. The physical maltreatment was something Catherine could move past; too many times to count had she picked herself up from the violence around her. She refused to allow a few gashes on her sides and the brands on her chest to keep her down. What drowned Catherine, was the uncertainty in what she did to drive Jimmy to give the order. She went over it thousands of times in her head, wondering where she went wrong. Had she spoken to someone she wasn't supposed to? Was she not as stealthy as she thought she had been when she tossed a pistol into the River Lagan?

When he buried his brother twelve years ago, Jimmy sealed off the dam to emotion. He found it was easier to go through life without feeling much of anything. Not to mention, when he refused to acknowledge any human sentiment, it made his job a hell of a lot easier. There was only one person who managed to invoke his vulnerability and that was Catherine. Looking up at her, as she questioned his faith in her, it left Jimmy feeling helpless. He knew he would have to crawl through Hell on his hands and knees before he earned her trust back. Never in his wildest dreams did he want Catherine to end up feeling unnerved around him but that's exactly what happened and it utterly killed him.

"Was never about that, a chuisle." Jimmy reached up and cupped her jaw. His thumb smeared her tears and he blinked back his own at the wretched sound of her cry. "I will always trust you. What I do, what I want you doin', it's very high-risk. It needed to be proved you could hold up if ya were arrested. I never doubted ya."

Catherine's breath stuttered and the red blotchy spots on her face were beating. "Did Liam have to go through that, too?"

There was no use in lying to her. Jimmy also realized Catherine was a bit more naive to his work than he originally thought. He decided to tread carefully.

"No, Liam's unit is more…boots on the ground. Ya won't be doin' what he does."

Her face began to lose the traces of distress, but they were replaced with perplexity. Jimmy prudently observed Catherine as he asked her if she knew exactly what his job entailed. He winced when she gave him a watered-down description and he knew he'd have to fill in the details she wasn't aware of.

"Aye," Jimmy started, "I do make sure all the units have what they need in terms of weapons, ammunition, explosives. But, my focus in on makin' sure there's cash bein' pumped into our dyin' fight. How I make that happen is through buyin' and sellin' those things all over the world."

Catherine closed her eyes for a moment, allowing it all to sink in. She had been clueless to the extent of Jimmy's work, and hearing him tell her he trafficked weapons all over the world, and not just in Ireland as she thought, was a tough pill to swallow. A bigger playing field meant bigger punishment.

"And, if I'm ever voted in by the Council, that's what I'd be doin' too?"

Jimmy nodded.

"Be honest with me." Catherine placed her index finger under Jimmy's chin and gently pushed up so she could see his eyes. "Who ordered that to happen? You or the Council?"

"The Council."

It scared Jimmy how easy it was to lie right to Catherine's face. However, if he told her the truth, she would never forgive him and certainly cut him from her life. Catherine had no reason to doubt his answer because as far as she was concerned, he'd never been dishonest with her. He didn't care if she hated the Council; he cared if she hated him.

Hearing that her trip to South Armagh had been sanctioned by the Council was bittersweet for Catherine. While she was having a hard time wrapping her mind around the fact they would willingly do that to recruits, on the other hand, she took it as a good sign. They wouldn't have wasted their time if they weren't seriously considering her. After hearing the truth Jimmy had fed her, Catherine could accept his hand in it all. He had no choice; when an order came from above, there was no other option than to accepted it with a smile and a thank you. His hands had been tied.

Finally, calm and no more signs of tears from Catherine, Jimmy stood to his feet. He grabbed her hands to help hoist her off her bed before wrapping his arms around her. Neither seeing nor speaking to Catherine for the last week and a half had been unbearable for Jimmy. He hadn't realized just how much his life revolved around her until she wasn't in it anymore. Fiona had tried her damnedest to pull Jimmy from his funk, not wanting him to slip into one of his famous foul moods for Christmas. Now that he had Catherine back in his arms, all seemed right in the world again.

Lifting her head off his chest, Jimmy ran his knuckles along Catherine's flush cheek. "You're gorgeous."

Bashful, Catherine averted her eyes from his until he cupped her face in his hands, and wasted no time going in for a kiss.

It was far from their first kiss but the moment their lips touched, there was a fire neither had been expecting. Catherine's mouth instinctually fell open, allowing his tongue to entangle hers where they both could taste the next fifty years of life. Jimmy planted his hands on her hips and she kneaded the material of his sweater between her fingers.

Breaking the kiss, Jimmy pulled his sweater up and over his head, tossing it onto the floor beside her dresser. Catherine ran her hands along his chest and abdomen as he grabbed the nape of her neck to collide their lips once again. Their tongues tangled and fought for control. Catherine's pushed against his is an attempt to take over his mouth, but he wouldn't allow it.

Taking a step back, Catherine didn't break the eye contact as she slid down her joggers, tossing them to the side. She ignited with a white heat as she ditched her shirt, leaving her in just her bra and panties. Standing there half-naked had her feeling vulnerable, yet completely comfortable. Her youth didn't go unnoticed by Jimmy. He licked his lips as he soaked in the deep, taut curves of her sides, her creamy skin.

"Are we crazy?" Catherine's voice broke the silence.

Jimmy grabbed her cheeks and searched her eyes. He knew he had taken it too far and she wasn't ready just yet to give herself over.

"What are ya talkin' about, a chuisle?"

Catherine grabbed his wrists, snuggling her face into his hand. "If we do this, we both know it won't be just this once. What'll people think?"

"Let 'em talk and judge. I just want you to be with me, as long as that's what ya what as well. You've no idea how badly I want you."

"I want ya, too."

Jimmy pressed a kiss to her forehead. That was all the confirmation he needed. He took his time ridding Catherine of her bra and panties and his eyes grew dark with lust and desire as he watched her breasts fall into their natural position. As she stood there naked, Jimmy couldn't deny her heavenliness—scars, cuts, burns in all. Every single blemish that now adorned her body told a story and they made her appear older and wiser.

One hand on the small of her back, Jimmy drove the other through her hair as he pulled her close. Tipping her head back to taste those sweet lips, he couldn't stop his hands from roaming her bare ass. The firm cheeks fit perfectly in his large hands as he walked her backward to her bed. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.

When the backs of her knees hit the mattress, Jimmy smirked into the kiss when she brought him down with her. It was as if she were desperately holding on to him, afraid that if she were to let go it would all come to an end. As he broke the kiss to stand up, he could hear Catherine wimpier in protest. He winked at her as he undid his belt, released the button of his pants; he caught the fire burning within her. Those baby blue eyes smoldered and were super focused on his hands as Jimmy eased the material of his pants and underwear down.

She felt the familiar pulse in her core pound harder as she saw Jimmy naked for the first time. Catherine had expected there to be awkwardness, but it was the exact opposite. Never before had she appreciated the male form until the moment Jimmy kicked his Calvin's aside. In all his glory, he was magnificent. Toned muscles rippled under tan and tattooed skin. She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth when her attention was brought to his impressive erection.

He crawled onto the bed, he figured out how to make this experience as pleasurable as possible with the least amount of pain.

"That's a good girl," he purred, as Catherine's legs fell open. He settled on his stomach between them.

With her legs parted, Jimmy's eyes burned at the sight before him. She was soft and hairless, glistening pink, and beyond tight. He felt her fingers thread through his hair as he brought his middle finger to her, ever so lightly teasing just her soaked opening.

"Anyone ever touch ya like this, Catherine?"

Her back arched on the mattress as he slipped the tip of his finger shallowly inside. Catherine could only shake her head, unable to find words to speak. She propped herself up on her elbows, wanting to watch every move Jimmy made. It only turned him on more as he watched her plush lashes flutter behind the frames of her glasses.

Removing his finger from her, he slid his hands under her ass and brought his mouth to her. Catherine felt her breath hitch in her throat when her brain registered the foreign sensation of a hot, wet tongue—Jimmy's tongue—going where no man had ever gone before. As if he were licking an ice cream cone, his tongue lapped at her swollen clit.

To Jimmy, Catherine tasted like a fine whiskey he was honored to drink. One sip of her warmth left a burn in his heart. They breached the line of decency and fell straight into a wicked sin. She became his willing victim, his muse, his toy to act out his most carnal desires. He lusted for her touch; her forbidden fruit.

His balls grew painfully snug as he watched Catherine twist to the brutal attack he brought upon her body. Jimmy was crawling out of his skin at how responsive to his touch she was. Catherine didn't hide how she felt, she let him know what he was doing was bringing her immeasurable pleasure. Jimmy took his time in pushing her to the brink of her climax. She called out his name over, and over, as the stars behind eyelids burst and spun. Those long, sharp fingernails of hers clawed at his scalp while her thighs cuffed his ears. He wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked, milking the hard orgasm from her body.

When it was over, Catherine allowed her back to fall to the mattress and she covered her face with her hands, giggling. She was basking in the pure bliss of the post-orgasmic haze and it was a state she wished she could never leave.

Nonetheless, he was nowhere near done with her. Wiping Catherine from his mouth, Jimmy draped an arm across her lower abdomen as he knew what he was about to do next would be unpleasant for her. Catherine squirmed from the slight overstimulation as he stroked her folds. Jimmy held her down on the mattress as he mercifully inserted two fingers into her virgin cunt. His eyes never left her as Catherine twisted. Her body had been shocked with the sensation of a rubber band popping her insides. She was uncomfortable and in slight pain; her eyes popped open, her jaw fell, and her brow furrowed. As his fingers slid in and out of her, he knew he wasn't being as gentle as he could have been. His only focus was making she was good and ready.

Easing his fingers from her, Jimmy wasn't at all surprised when he noticed the blood. Catherine's breathing was heavy and she shook with anticipation as she watched Jimmy maneuver himself to the head of her bed. Moving pillows out of his way, resting his back against the headboard.

"C'mere baby."

Crawling over to him, she tossed a leg over his lap, straddling his hips. Jimmy could feel her hand trembling as she rested it on his shoulder for balance. To help her mellow, he ran calloused fingers along her sides.

"Deep breaths," he reminded her. "If you're relaxed, it'll only be a wee bit uncomfortable."

Catherine nodded, but she hesitated and sat back on his thighs. "I'm just worried I won't be any good in this position. Not a clue what I'm doin'."

Her reservations were well warranted and Jimmy understood the sudden strike of self-consciousness. While he didn't expect her to jump on and know exactly what to her first time, it was peculiar for him to see her so reserved. Normally she was so self-assured in everything and anything she did.

Playfully smacking her on the thigh to urge her up, Jimmy wrapped his arms around her. To distract her, Jimmy scaled his mouth around hers for another torrid kiss. He felt her fingers lace around the nape of his neck. With her mind focused on nothing more than that kiss, he gripped the base of his thick erection, guiding it to the heat he sought.

The kiss broke as he eased Catherine down. As expected, her eyes squeezed shut, and a moan of euphoria and discomfort escaped her reddened and swollen lips. When Catherine sank as far as possible, Jimmy held still, allowing her to get used to the delicious sting of him stretching her out. Watching her eyes roll into the back of their sockets with intense pleasure, Jimmy had to control himself upon feeling her slick heat surrounding his bare skin.

This wasn't about him. He wanted her to set the pace, to feel comfortable having him most intimately. When she was ready to start moving, Catherine found pace in a slow grind, Jimmy easing her movements with an encouraging hand on the small of her back. Her hands found their way back to his neck just as her lips collided with his. The kiss wasn't hungry and infatuated as they expected. Rather, it was slow and deep, matching the rhythm of their hips.

"Fuck." Catherine placed her forehead against his, their bodies moving in synch and slicked with sweat.

Jimmy grabbed Catherine's jaw so her gaze wouldn't leave him. Licking his fore and middle fingers on the opposite hand, he would make her watch as he made her come. Show her that she was his; she was always his and forever would be. Catherine's body squirmed involuntarily as Jimmy pressed his wet fingers to her oversensitive bundle of nerves. He drew lazy circles around her clit and Catherine could feel the charge building deep within her belly. She knew it was fast approaching.

"Jimmy," Catherine's tongue guided one of his fingers into her mouth. He almost came at the sight and feel of her warm mouth fervently sucking his finger. Wanting to last just a bit longer, he tore it out of her mouth. "Just like that. I think I'm close."

Before the words could even leave her mouth, Jimmy felt her sex clench tighter, and tighter around him. Her muscles tensed and she fought to breathe.

Catherine was too far gone to protest as he roughly maneuvered her onto her stomach. One hand gripping her hair close to the scalp, Jimmy used the free one to get her up on her knees. He bottomed out into her without the slightest hesitation, his pace became wanton and intense. Three sounds were filling the thick, humid air: skin slapping, Jimmy's primal grunts, and the feminine, throaty moans coming from Catherine. He loved the fact she wasn't afraid to be loud and it sounded natural.

Jimmy couldn't get enough of the sight of Catherine on all fours. He ran a hand down her back as he thrust sharply, a cry of pain escaping her mouth when he hit her cervix.

"Say it again," he demanded.

Catherine twisted herself so she could look at him as he pounded her. She knew exactly what he wanted—nay—needed to hear.

"Fuck, that feels good, Jimmy."

Jaw locked, teeth clenched, and hips powering back and forth, he slammed his cock into her again and again, until he felt the walls of his world fall like a house of cards.

Suddenly, he could breathe again.

A breath he didn't know he had been holding in since his brother died. A painful ache sheared in his chest and it hurt like fucking hell when Jimmy realized it was his sign to start living again.

Nothing was going to change the past or give him back those years without Eamonn, and now he wanted more. More of the future. More and more until virtually his old life ceased to exist and everything felt as amazing as Catherine and fit as perfectly as she fit around him.

Jimmy knew he was an awful man. He smoked, he broke the law, and he manipulated people to get exactly what he wanted in life. He didn't care because no one taught him how to. But when it came to her, he wanted to be the best man possible. He couldn't bear the thought of her being hurt by him, or by anyone else, for that matter. He would kill to protect her; the girl who cared about someone as worthless and monstrous as him in all her perfection. Catherine was an angel craving chaos, and he was a demon seeking peace.

She repeated his name a third time and that's when he lost control still inside of her, neither of them giving two thoughts about the repercussions.

Exhausted, Catherine fell to a heap on her mattress. Breathing hard, she tried to catch her breath, not wanting the feeling to ever disappear. Her thoughts had gone to a place of contentment and she was feeling clingy and selfish for wanting much more, now that she had gotten a raw taste of Jimmy.

As her breathing evened, Jimmy looked down at her with eyes that would surely scare Catherine if she looked up. They were storming with possession as his fingers traced the space between her shoulder blades. Moving to straddle her waist, Jimmy gathered her hair in his fist and clamped his teeth down hard. Catherine jerked and cried out, gripping the black sheet. He was leaving his mark, laying claim to what was his.

Jimmy would make her get a tattoo of his name between her shoulder blades, marking her permanently.


	6. Soldiers, Are We

Catherine was laying in bed, flipping through the pages of a magazine when she heard the faint sound of pebbles hitting her window. Unsure that she heard correctly, she leaned over to turn down the volume of her stereo. Sure enough, there it was again. Bouncing straight out of bed, with a smile a plastered to her face, Catherine pulled up the blinds and opened the window. Her smile didn't exactly fall, but her eyes grew incredibly wide when she saw who it was standing on the sidewalk below.

"The hell ye doin' here, Jimmy?" Her whisper was harsh and demanding.

Considering her bedroom window faced the front of the house, Catherine prayed Patrick had gone to bed and wasn't in the living room watching television. She hadn't brought herself to tell her father that amends had been with Jimmy, as Patrick seemed rather happy having her around the house more over the last couple weeks.

"C'mon an' let me in, yeah? It's fuckin' baltic."

Quietly as possible, Catherine raced down the stairs to let Jimmy in. As soon as she pulled the door open, Jimmy grabbed her by the hip to pull her in for a kiss. It felt her breathless and dizzy by the time he pulled away. Grabbing his hand, Catherine placed her index finger to her lips signaling him to be quiet before leading up the stairs. In the dim hallway, Jimmy could see the glow of a television from the crack of Patrick and Olivia's bedroom door, and the deep voices of Liam and Brien echoed as they played video games in their shared room. Pushing him into hers, Catherine quickly closed and locked the door.

This was only the second time Jimmy had been in her bedroom. As he took off his coat and hung it on one of the hooks holding her collection of hooded sweatshirts, he looked around. The walls were painted a deep, dusty rose and littered with posters of The Cranberries, Green Day, and Rammstein. He chuckled at the at Take That posters around the perimeter of the window. On the opposite side of the room, her unmade bed was pushed against the wall. Thumbtacked proudly above her bed was the Irish tricolor. It was a healthy mix of femininity, rock'n'roll, and Irish republicanism—a perfect representation of her true self.

"Ya never answered me question," Catherine lowly asked. She turned up the volume on Dolores O'Riordan's voice to drown out her brothers next door.

Jimmy cleared his throat waved the two wrapped packages he was holding. That certainly caught her attention. "Never had a chance 'ta give ya yer Christmas gifts."

A mischievous smile graced Catherine's face as she accepted the gifts and sat down in the middle of her bed. She gleefully tore the paper off a slim rectangular box. The ball of paper sitting in-between her legs, Catherine opened the velvet box and her jaw instantly dropped. Inside was the most exquisite diamond tennis bracelet she had ever seen. She had no idea Jimmy had dropped several thousand pounds on it, making it the single most expensive piece of jewelry she did or would ever own. To Jimmy, it was worth every cent.

"Jesus, Jimmy," Catherine was afraid to take it out of the box, not wanting anything to happen to it. "This is…it's beautiful. But, I can't accept this."

When she tried fighting him on it, that didn't come as a single surprise to Jimmy. Almost humble to a fault, Catherine never saw herself deserving anything shiny and new. Jimmy had the complete opposite mindset—everything he did was driven by his need to have bigger and better. His lower-class background did little to chasten his expensive tastes.

"Aye, ya can. It's a big year for ya, and I figured ye'd wear it on graduation."

In six short months, she would be graduating from St. Dominic's. What still remained uncertain about her future, however, was whether or not she would move forth with her acceptance to the law school at Queen's University. Catherine always imagined she would use her intellect to make a difference in Northern Ireland. But, the older she got, Armalites and petrol bombs were more attractive than an LLB in Law and Politics. While he had been genuinely happy for her when news of her acceptance spread throughout the Lower Falls and Short Strand, Jimmy's main focus now was steering her away from the university. The accomplishment he was proudest of was her induction into the IRA and that's what he wanted her focus to be on.

"Yer honestly too good 'ta me," she took the second and final gift he had for her.

Jimmy just shrugged; he wasn't going to say it out loud that he knew he was too good to her. Never had he dropped that kind of coin on Fiona or Kerrianne.

"This one's more for business and not pleasure," Jimmy warned.

Catherine opened the box and shook the Nokia 5110 cellphone into her lap. "I'm assumin' there are strings attracted."

The brand-new cellphone may have been given to her only for vocational purposes, but that did little to curb her excitement about finally having one.

"There is," Jimmy turned it on for her. "Don't store any numbers, so ye'll have to keep relying on memorizin 'em. Ya answer every damn time it rings when yer not at school, and every time ye get a call, send a text, or get a text, delete it right away. Jus' keep it clean."

Easy enough, Catherine thought. "I can manage that."

She was preoccupied fiddling around with her new toy and protested when Jimmy snatched it from her hands. Placing in on her nightstand, he pushed her down before rolling his body over hers. The little squeal that escaped her in the process was the most adorable thing Jimmy had ever heard, and he wondered how a bastard like him managed to get a girl like her to love him.

Supporting himself on his knees and one forearm, he tucked wavy strands of hair behind her pierced ear. In the last five days since their relationship tore down the path of copulation, they had found time to fool around for three of them. The sneaking around was already starting to get old for Jimmy but it was nothing new for Catherine. He was counting down the days until she graduated from school and he could get her into her own flat. Listening to Brien and Liam hurl insults at one another through the thin walls wasn't exactly doing much for Jimmy below the belt.

Diving his tongue into the depth of Catherine's mouth, Jimmy reached over and turned the music up when the racket of the boy's thunderous quarrel traveled into the small bedroom. Catherine melted into the kiss, her fingers instantly traveling to the nape of his neck where they weaved into deep brunette locks. The hand he wasn't using to support himself snaked under her loose-fitting tank top, coming to a stop only when it reached her breast. A thick moan came from Catherine when he pinched and twisted the round, swollen nipple. He could feel her start to tug at his shirt, untucking it from the waistband of his trousers. Before Catherine had the chance to get it all the way free, the familiar sound of pebbles being pelted at the window interrupted them.

He broke the kiss, severely disgruntled, and she saw the temper shift in his eyes. "Ye expectin' anyone?"

"It has 'ta be Lorcan."

Fucking wonderful, Jimmy thought.

The boyfriend showing up was exactly what he needed just before plowing Catherine. Nudging him off her, Jimmy didn't say a word as he watched her go to the window. There was no missing the smile she tried to hide by biting her lower lip when she pulled the blinds up. She held up one finger to whomever it was standing outside before tossing on a sweatshirt. Telling Jimmy, she'd be right back, Catherine dashed down the steps without a second glance back.

Hopping off the bed, Jimmy casually strode to her dresser and pulled open the bottom drawer. It was a lucky guess but he found exactly what he was looking for. Pulling a cigarette from the pack, he lit up and went to the window. He found an empty pop can to flick his ash into as he lifted one of the slats on the blinds. Sure enough, there was Lorcan McInnes standing on the sidewalk. Taking a long drag, Jimmy held the smoke in longer than usual when Catherine finally made it outside. He knew it was wrong to allow the vines of envy to dig their roots into his heart as she enthusiastically jumped into Lorcan's arms. Jimmy bit the inside of his lip so hard he could taste the sharp metallic blood when Lorcan kissed her, and Catherine threaded her fingers into his black hair. Just as she had done with Jimmy not even minutes before.

He wasn't sure exactly what Catherine said to Lorcan, but after one last kiss she headed back inside and Jimmy extinguished the cigarette.

She was all smiles when she bounced back into her bedroom. That wasn't exactly how he wanted her to behave after being with another male.

"So, that's still goin' on, huh?"

Jimmy was sitting horizontally across her bed, his back resting on the wall. The question came out of left field for her, so all Catherine could do was snort in response. She wasn't going to dignify him with a response; he knew well enough that she was still very much involved with Lorcan. For the last two years, she's had both Jimmy and Patrick breathing down her neck over her relationship with the McInnes boy. Patrick worried Lorcan was a distraction to her academics, and Jimmy worried he was a distraction to her training. Watching Lorcan put his hand up Catherine's skirt and his tongue down her throat didn't him any points with Jimmy either.

Catherine didn't break eye contact with Jimmy as she strutted over to the bed. Crawling up, she straddled him.

"Why do ya care? Jealous?"

Now, it was Jimmy's turn to snort. "Yeah, I'm jealous of an eighteen-year-old."

A chill was sent down his spine as Catherine began to undo the buttons of his shirt. Her hands felt like heaven against his bare skin.

"Is that so?" she raised an eyebrow. "Ya never have anythin' nice 'ta say about 'im."

"Because he's a punk."

Catherine couldn't believe that Jimmy O didn't see the irony in him calling Lorcan a punk.

Pot, meet kettle, was what she wanted to say to Jimmy, but she decided to keep it civil. Peeling her tank top off, she tossed it behind her. Getting the hint, Jimmy grabbed Catherine by the sides and tossed her to her back, ready and willing to make her forget Lorcan's existence.

* * *

New Year's Eve at Jimmy and Fiona's had been the tradition for the last four years. As typical, the atmosphere was joyous and festive. The packed house in East Belfast echoed with chatter and laughter. The food and alcohol were bottomless as the music was pumping.

Catherine and Brien were glued to the hip, per usual, as they snuck nips of scotch from the flask Brien had hidden in his pocket. Although they were both now of legal age to consume alcohol, Olivia had limited their consumption to only champagne. The O'Toole siblings were determined to party a little harder.

Standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room, Jimmy leaned his shoulder against the wall. Sipping Johnnie Walker neat, he politely engaged in conversation with several men under his command. He tried as best he could to remain invested in the topic at hand, but that was turning into a tested chore with her perfume wafting through the air. Though he couldn't see her, the notes of her infectious laugh brought a smile to his face. Jimmy hid that smile by bringing his tumbler to his mouth, not wanting to look like a blushing half-wit.

He couldn't shake how remarkably beautiful she looked, either. In a white long-sleeved turtleneck, tucked into a black skater-skirt that fell mid-length. Seeing Catherine in a skirt and opaque black tights were nothing new to him. It was the three-inch t-strap pumps which completed the outfit, that punched Jimmy in the groin. She was also wearing the diamond bracelet he had given to her the day prior.

With their relationship still in its infancy and not a single person around them knowing that happened, Jimmy and Catherine decided it was best to keep their distance from one another. The inability to each other only meant the tension was building and Catherine could feel her panties grow damp every time his smoky voice rang her ears.

Jimmy looked at his watch, and when he realized it was forty-minutes to midnight excused himself from the less than stimulating conversation.

Catherine sat beside Fiona on the sofa as they drank bubbly and discussed the young woman's future plans. They both turned their attention to Jimmy as he nonchalantly approached the IRA Chief of Staff, Brendan Callaghan.

"I told 'im no business tonight." Fiona irritatingly sighed.

Catherine only offered Fiona a half-smile in sympathy while wondering what in the hell they could have to discuss on a holiday evening. There had been a few times where Jimmy had Catherine sit in on his conversations with Brendan and she would be lying if she said she wasn't insulted by his snub. Ignoring the disenchantment, Catherine turned back to her conversation with Fiona.

Not long after Jimmy headed upstairs to his office with Brendan, Patrick plucked the glass of champagne from Catherine's hand.

He placed it on the side table and offered his hand to Catherine. "Sorry 'ta intrude ladies, but Catherine, yer presence has been requested elsewhere."

Confused, Catherine stood up and smoothed out her skirt. She tried pulling answers out of Patrick but all he did was divert the conversation and nudge her to follow Liam.

Olivia held her wine glass against her chest. Standing behind the sofa, she watched Patrick, Catherine, and Liam head up the stairs. "What's that all about?"

"No idea,"

"Ya don't think…" Olivia looked down at Fiona, who was playing with the pendant on her necklace. "Has Jimmy said anythin'?"

Fiona only shook her head. When Olivia saw Brien had been left out of the pow-wow, she instantly knew that it was, in fact, Army business being discussed. Her worst nightmare was about to become a reality.

Upstairs, the O'Toole clan found Jimmy sitting on his desk, scotch and black beret in hand. Brendan Callaghan stood beside Jimmy, his arms crossed over his chest. As four pairs of eyes fell onto her, Catherine couldn't help but feel as though she had walked into an inquisition.

Patrick placed his strong hands on Catherine's shoulder. Joining the IRA was never a path he had foreseen for her. Catherine was his pride and joy, and he had spent that decade in Long Kesh to make sure she would one day live in a unified Ireland. Though she possessed a good head on her shoulders and a decent moral compass—that definitely didn't come from Patrick—there was absolutely no way he would stand in her way if the ranks of the True Army was where she wanted to be.

For the reassurance, Patrick asked Catherine, "yer sure this is what ya want? Not Cumann na mBann."

In that question, Catherine realized what was going on. After a long year and a half of bitch work and never-ending target practice, she was finally getting her beret and Easter Lily pin. Slighting twisting her neck, Catherine stoically looked at Jimmy, almost as if she needed his reassurance. His stone expression matched hers as he gave Catherine a small nod.

"Aye, Da. It's what I want."

Patrick wrapped his arms around Catherine and hugged her tight. Watching another one of his children dedicate their lives to fighting the cause was bittersweet for him. The hope he was holding on to was the fact she had been trained far better than he or Liam and would be able to avoid most trouble. Catherine hugged Patrick back just as tight, deep down elated that he was actually in Belfast in witness her formal induction.

Letting her go, Patrick sniffed hard and elbowed Catherine towards Jimmy and Brendan. Being at a higher rank, it was Brendan who would swear Catherine in. As her commanding officer, Jimmy would pin her.

She could barely contain her relief and excitement as Brendan instructed her to stand before him. It all sank in for her as he spoke, reminding her of what she was getting in to; the paramilitary life wasn't easy and at some point, she would be arrested. What mattered was that she kept her loyalty. The loyalty that had already been tested.

The only thing Catherine was focused on was getting it out of the way so she could get to work first thing Monday. She had been forced to wait long enough and her day had finally come. Everything leading up to the moment when she raised her right hand, was worth it to Catherine. Every scar, every burn; they were only part of her journey and she would wear them with the utmost distinction.

Patrick and Liam glinted with pride. Jimmy clenched her beret tightly in his hands, remaining more reserved. Getting Catherine to this point had taken Jimmy eight long years; it almost cost a man his life and it destroyed a family. However, the past ceased to matter to him as once again he had gotten exactly what he sought after. It was the most surreal feeling in the world for everyone in that room as Catherine held up her hand, reciting the declaration of allegiance.

"I, Catherine O'Toole, promise 'ta promote the objectives of the Irish Republican Army 'ta the best of me knowledge and ability, an' obey any an' all orders issued 'ta me by a superior officer."


	7. War Child

**June 2002**

When Jimmy agreed to meet with an underboss of the Irish mob from Boston, he wasn't expecting much. Four months ago his contact to military-grade weapons in the United States had been court-martialed and subsequently sentenced to a few dozen years in prison. That meant Jimmy was out of a product that he could buy for five-figures, sell for six, and make a pretty profit off.

Sean Rourke was first generation Irish-American, who sought desperately for some sort of connection to the motherland, as well as the IRA. He had managed to catch Jimmy's attention, claiming he would sell the same automatic rifles at a better cost and half the risk. Jimmy had dealt with his type far too many times in the past to know it was too good to be true—Sean was a wannabe volunteer who had no idea how the True Army worked. Nonetheless, when Sean suggested a long weekend in Malta with the mistresses to discuss a possible distribution deal, Jimmy jumped on it.

On a yacht, in the Mediterranean Sea just off Malta's coast, Sean had the unfortunate pleasure of sitting across the table of Jimmy and Catherine. If Sean would have done his homework, he would have known that Catherine was more than Jimmy's twenty-one-year-old mistress; she was also his ferocious comrade. She knew Jimmy was being insulted by Sean's proposal, but she remained calm, collected, and focused. Jimmy equated Catherine to a stealthy lioness. Patiently waiting to pounce and protect the cause. Placing her fruity, frozen cocktail on the table, Catherine leaned forward in her chair, completely ignoring the tight squeeze Jimmy was giving to her thigh.

"We won't settle fer more than cost, plus three-percent fer the first year. Then, we can renegotiate if all goes well. Yer askin' us 'ta pay twenty-percent above cost, on top of another six-percent. We can't afford that in addition 'ta all the overhead. Besides, I know fer a fact that we can get the M16's, at cost, elsewhere."

Even though her eyes were shaded behind oversized sunglasses, Jimmy knew there was a storm of indignation turning her radiant blue orbs dark when Sean broke out into a fit of laughter. Catherine kept forbearing, unaware that she said something funny.

Sean's temperament quickly changed to irritated. "I know for a fuckin' fact you won't find anyone to sell an M16 for under sixteen-grand; I'm trying to stay in competition. The war in the Middle East has driven up the costs on all US military equipment. Listen, you self-righteous Mick, I also know you don't have a single fucking source in the States, so where do you think you'll get it cheaper? Libya? Afghanistan? Do yourself a favor sweetheart, and go sit pretty somewhere while the men handle business."

"Tóg go bog é," _take it easy_, Jimmy quietly warned Catherine as he took a sip of his vodka. He nudged his head, "Go."

Bitterly scorned, Catherine stood from her chair. Looking down at Jimmy, she grabbed the hem of her yellow cotton sundress and pulled it over her head to reveal a tiny black bikini that left little to the imagination. Catherine made sure Sean saw the scars that freckled her body.

Swiping her drink off the table, Catherine told Sean to kiss her ass as she walked to the bow of the yacht to lay out in the sun. "Póg mo thóin."

The salty Mediterranean breeze in her hair, Catherine plopped down on her towel and began applying thick layers of sunscreen to her milky, Irish skin. From the outside, it looked as though no one was home, but internally, she was stewing. In the last four years, Catherine had managed to build her esteemed reputation through blood, sweat, and tears. She worked harder than even Jimmy at times, and she was grateful he never once took credit for her accomplishments. From building trusted relationships within the IRA, and around the world, when Catherine was at the table, she had respect.

It was a tough pill to swallow, Jimmy sending her away, but she, without a shadow of a doubt, knew he would take care of it. Everyone inside Belfast and out was well aware that Fiona's reign was over; Catherine had taken the crown as Jimmy's queen. And God help anyone who disrespected the queen.

Less than an hour later, Jimmy joined Catherine on the bow. He sat down beside her, looking out into the vast Sea, wishing the weather in Belfast could be ninety and sunny. Hair sun-bleached and skin slightly burnt, Catherine wasn't in a hurry to get back to Northern Ireland either.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she shamelessly gawked her hunky man. She grew insanely jealous of Jimmy's sun-kissed skin.

"What was the final offer?" She inquired.

Jimmy lit a cigar, throwing an arm over the rail. He shrugged, "told 'im 'ta go fuck 'imself."

"What happened?"

"I've seen his type too many times," he blew out a cloud of smoke, "their perception of the Army is a wee bit romanticized an' have no intention on actually makin' it work wit' us."

"James O'Phelan," Catherine scolded, pushing her sunglasses into her hair. "Ya never intended 'ta make a deal wit' 'im, did ya?"

Again, he only shrugged. Catherine maneuvered on to her knees so she could wrap her arms around his neck. One of his arms snaked around her sides, holding her close to him.

"Ya found another pipeline in the States, I'm assumin'."

Jimmy gave her a slight nod. "Aye. We're meetin' wit' a bloke from Northern Cali in a few weeks. Just wanted a weekend away wit' ya."

While she did find it rather romantic that he would be willing to sit through a disdainful business proposal simply for the opportunity to spend some alone time with her, there was one nagging aspect of his statement that she needed to address.

"Northern Cali, huh? Any chance that would bring us anywhere near Charmin'?"

Jimmy's face tightened as the question left her mouth. A part of her really wished she could take it back but there was no turning back.

"How long have ya known that's where he is?"

In truth, she had known for years thanks to Brien and Padaric confirming it once they had been earned their top-rockers with the Sons of Anarchy. Catherine knew Northern California and SAMCRO was integral to IRA cash flow, so she left it alone as it would only be a matter of time before she ended up there.

Every time she tried to bring up Filip, Olivia would shut Catherine down, as would Patrick. Jimmy would mumble an insult in Gaelic before lighting a cigarette, and Fiona would simply cry. Nearly ten years since her much adored Uncle Filip left Belfast, and Catherine was driving herself mad trying to dig for the truth behind his departure.

"Only a few months," she lied, "Liam passed the craic 'ta me when a lad in his unit found out."

There was no way she could tell him the information had come from SAMBEL. Even though the outlaw motorcycle club was essentially the True Army's right hand, Jimmy worked extra hard to keep Catherine out of that crowd. She assumed that was because Kenny "Scrum" Burke—Dungloe's secretary—became heavily flirtatious with her whenever she tagged along on shipment drops. Little did she know, it had to do with a little more than Scrum's playful flirting.

"I may track 'im down while I'm there. I really miss 'im." Catherine quickly turned melancholy, much to Jimmy's displeasure.

He grabbed her jaw tightly, forcing her gaze to his. "No you won't. This is the only warnin' I'm givin' ye; don't ya fuckin' go near him wit'out me there. Filip's gone for a reason."

Wanting to just enjoy the last day of waves, sun, and heat, Catherine just dropped it. There wasn't any use in her digging for more information because they knew Jimmy would never give it to her. Smacking his grip loose from her face, Catherine assured him she wouldn't go looking for Filip when they got to Northern California.

* * *

**East Belfast - Northern Ireland**

Catherine's heart dropped deep into her stomach as she surveyed the chaos around her.

It was a scene she had seen too many times in her two decades of life—herds of British soldiers and members of the Police Service of Northern Ireland marched the streets of Short Stand in full riot gear. Flaming glass bottles soared over the peace wall where they shattered upon impact, setting everything in its path ablaze. Across the sky, bottle rockets screamed, and Catherine watched the fireworks break the second-story windows of her neighbor.

As Jimmy slung the straps of their duffle bags over his shoulders, he was beginning to seriously regret his decision not to drop Catherine off at Patrick and Olivia's. Before their flight had taken off, Donny warned Jimmy about the increasing restlessness and tensions as the celebration of Queen Elizabeth's Golden Jubilee sparked conflict. When a pipe bomb exploded at the end of Catherine's street, he quickly ushered her into the house.

"What's the plan?" She asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. Another bomb exploded, startling Catherine. That one was too close for comfort. Without a word, Jimmy jetted up the stairs, taking them two at a time. "Alright, good talk."

Following him up, Catherine winced when she heard Jimmy begin making a mess of her guest room. She knew exactly what he was after when the harsh, squealing sound of the bed legs scratching the hardwood floor echoed in the hallway. Once in the room, Catherine fell to her knees beside Jimmy and helped him wiggle the floorboards loose. When they had them free, Jimmy lifted the Armalite from the floor. He locked the magazine in and chambered a round.

"Where's the automatic an' armor-piercin' ammunition?"

"The rifle is in the last drawer of me dresser, under the false bottom. I'll get the rounds."

Loaded Armalite in hand, Jimmy took off for Catherine's bedroom. Hoisting off her knees, Catherine crossed the hall into her bathroom where she flicked the light switch with a shaky hand. She absolutely hated it when Jimmy never divulged his plans as being left in the dark never did much to settle her anxiety. Considering the type of man, he is, she knew he held everything beyond close to his chest as it was the paranoia of things going wrong that forced him to keep quiet.

Removing the lid of the toilet tank, Catherine carefully placed the porcelain cover on the linoleum floor. Taped inside the tank were four bags, each containing two magazines. Jimmy asking for that specifically invoked apprehension in Catherine. He was beyond furious with what violence he had come home to, so naturally, it was his inclination to respond with brute force tenfold. The magazines Catherine held her hands were loaded with bullets, which had the capability to pierce the Kevlar armor worn by the Army and PSNI. Considering she was the one out the two of them thinking clearly, Catherine knew she'd have to covertly discourage the use of the automatic rifle. Firing it would only escalate the hostility and the last thing she sought was further provocation.

Clamping three of the bags under her armpit, Catherine ripped one of them open as she entered her bedroom. Jimmy reached for one of the magazines, but Catherine moved it out of his reach.

"Ya sure 'bout this?"

Jimmy responded by ripping it from Catherine's hand. "What happened in Ardoyne last summer, won't happen in Short Strand."

"Ya take out a soldier or peeler, Short Stand will burn longer, and hotter than Ardoyne." Catherine found herself distracted. "An', why the fuck did'ja open the blinds?"

Turning his attention away from loading the rifle, Jimmy shifted so he could glance out the window behind him. Catherine wasn't exactly sure what Jimmy saw as his brow furrowed, but in a split second, he tossed aside the rifle in preparation to leap over the bed. Before Jimmy could tackle Catherine to the ground, spray, after spray of bullets sliced through her bedroom window.

The sound was near deafening but, Catherine couldn't bring herself to cover her ears. She listened to the slugs lodge into the drywall. As they shattered the glass of her mirror and television screen. With her head turned to the side, she watched halfheartedly as the photos on her dresser of she and Jimmy, her brothers, her mom, and dad, were nearly shredded to bits.

She tried hard to remain still, but the fear that overtook forced her body to betray her mind. Tightly tucked beneath him, Jimmy could feel her begin to tremble as the reality of what was happening set in. He could handle the target on his back, it came with the territory of being the Brigade Quartermaster. What pissed him off beyond all belief was that this had been an attempt to take out both him and Catherine; they waited to pull their triggers until she appeared in the room. She was nothing more than a low-ranking volunteer, not even in the command staff. That only told Jimmy, Catherine's name was now known and she was becoming feared.

As quickly as it started, the shooting stopped. Their heavy breathing was the only sound in the room and Jimmy took a moment to just hold Catherine. A part of him didn't want to get go of her, afraid that if they were to stand up, it would happen all over again. He said about a dozen Hail Mary's, unbelievably thankful Catherine had taken notice to the blinds, something he hadn't thought twice about. Someone had been lurking in her home while they were in Malta and he didn't feel the slightest bit comfortable keeping her there.

"Ye okay, a chuisle?"

He felt her grab his hand and squeeze. Still as tough and unshakeable as ever.


	8. Never Quite as it Seems

Catherine woke up on the couch at Patrick and Olivia's. Instead of rising peacefully, she was startled half to death when she opened her eyes to find Kerrianne less than a foot away.

"Jesus, Kerri," she groaned, sitting up while rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "The hell ye doin'?"

The eleven-year-old pushed her mane of black ringlet curls out of her face and sat on the couch beside Catherine. There was an awkward silence that filled the air between them as Kerrianne eyed Catherine with a grimace. Ever since her relationship with Jimmy had become more serious and romantic, the cousins began to see less and less of each other. For obvious reasons, Fiona wasn't too keen on allowing Catherine anywhere near her home and Catherine wasn't all that inclined to be there either.

"Why doesn't me Ma like ye any more?"

Catherine looked at the clock hanging on the wall and let out a heavy breath when she saw it was only eight in the morning. It was far too early to be answering the prying question, on top of only five hours of fitful sleep. She wasn't about to tell Kerrianne the truth either.

"Ye'll have 'ta ask yer ma."

"Believe me, I tried. But, she keeps brushin' me off, so she does. The other day, when she was talkin' wit' Sibohan Leary, Momma said ya were nothin' but Jimmy's brasser an' that he'd be over ya soon enough…whatever that means."

Hearing that Fiona was going around Belfast and referring to her as nothing more than Jimmy's prostitute, didn't come as much of a surprise. Actually, the insult barely registered as Catherine knew it could be a hell of a lot worse.

Catherine really wanted to tell Kerrianne to get used to the never-ending secrets that were kept, as that was just the Telford/O'Toole way of life. Realizing she needed to get the hell out of that situation, Catherine shrugged her shoulders and got up to fetch some much-needed coffee from the kitchen.

When she saw Fiona was sitting at the table with Jimmy and Olivia, it quickly became coffee and whiskey that she was craving. Being in the same room with Jimmy and the woman he was still living and raising a child with, made Catherine want to implode. The tension was so thick it could be cut with a knife.

In all honesty, Catherine couldn't blame Fiona for being there as it was the only place she really could go. Staying in Short Strand when it was on the verge of burning wasn't the best thing to do with a young child. Nonetheless, when Catherine arrived at her parent's and found Fiona and Kerrianne sleeping in her old bedroom, she instantly turned to Jimmy and begged him to bring her back home. She didn't care that her bedroom window had been shot out from someone trying to kill her, and pipe bombs rocked the street corner every so often. Being in the middle of that was less dangerous than being in the same living space as his quasi-wife and stepdaughter. To add insult to injury, when Catherine asked Jimmy if he wanted to sleep downstairs with her, he responded by quietly fucking her in the bathroom before heading across the hall to zonk out beside Fiona. The only thing that kept Catherine from having a near breakdown was the spiteful reminder that they were in the bed she and Jimmy had screwed countless times on.

Olivia just kept on blabbering away about the conflict brewing on the east side of the river as Catherine poured her coffee. Fiona was giving her the side eye, and Jimmy smiled amusingly as Catherine dispensed a heavy shot of Bushmills into the black liquid. After the events of the last twelve hours, Jimmy had woken up and did the same. Catherine tried her best to avoid any eye contact with Jimmy, and it was fairly easy with Fiona throwing daggers at her.

"Where's Da?" Catherine asked Olivia. She blew across the top of her mug.

"Outside."

Olivia didn't even look up at her daughter as she kept up the conversation with Fiona. Something that Catherine envied deeply about her mother's personality was her ability to go on with life as if nothing was wrong. There was bloodshed around her, but Olivia chose to focus on the fact the weather was finally warming up. While an awkwardness had filled the atmosphere of the kitchen, Olivia ignored the fact that Catherine was screwing her sister-in-law's significant other.

Stepping outside, Catherine found her father sitting in a wrought iron chair at the patio table. She took a seat beside him and the two simply sat there in silence, soaking in the muggy morning. From the distance, they could hear the thunderous reverberations of the homemade explosives. The scorched smell of ammonium nitrate and aluminum powder hung heavy above their heads. It was the fragrance of childhood for the father and daughter.

"Heard what happened last night." Patrick lit a cigarette. "How ya holdin' up?"

Catherine stiffened at her father's words. The echo of the shots ringing out in the small space of her bedroom quickly stopped playing over and over again in her ears. When she had stood up and examined the destruction in her bedroom, Catherine had been filled with a rage that easily matched Jimmy's. Expect, she lashed out in a way no one had expected. Usually the one with a level head, Catherine had lost her mind. On the phone with Donny, Jimmy had no idea that Catherine was dashing around the house, stuffing torn bath cloths, which were soaked in isopropyl alcohol, into bottles of whiskey and vodka. Watching from her bedroom window, Jimmy stopped listening to his second-in-command when he saw Catherine in the backyard. A sense of arrogant pride washed over him as Catherine lit the homemade incendiary devices, throwing them over the wall.

To answer Patrick's question, Jimmy would say she was holding up rather well, while Catherine was faintly repulsed with her actions.

Catherine assured Patrick she'd be fine, before telling him what was really bothering her. "Somethin' about it jus' doesn't add up, Da."

"What do ya mean?"

Looking around, Catherine moved her chair closer to Patrick. She stole a cigarette from this pack.

"Assumin' t'was Her Majesty's Armed Forces, the PSNI, or even the Ulster Volunteer Force, why would they wait 'ta take the shot at Jimmy until I got in the room?"

"Ye sure yer not on their radar?"

Patrick didn't mean to dismiss his daughter's concerns right off the bat, but he was trying to see it from all angles. With the work Catherine had done over the last several years, it wasn't foolish to think she had eyes on her. Fiona had very little to do with Jimmy's business and even she would catch a tail once or twice a year. Being in Jimmy's life meant being under the microscope by the British and foreign governments and with all the traveling Catherine did with him, it would only make sense that they knew she was more than just his lover.

"I asked Liam before goin' 'ta Malta, and he said his informant in MI6 told 'im they don't have enough information on me 'ta even issue an arrest warrant. They wouldn't risk tryin' 'ta make me out."

Catherine hated that she was about to bring up her theory, as it would make her sound like she was losing her mind and spiraling into the depths of paranoia.

"Ya don't think the Council would try anythin', do ya?"

"Fuck ya talkin' about, Catherine?"

Scratching the top of her head with a long nail, Catherine took a long drag from her smoke. "What I'm about 'ta tell ye doesn't leave the table, we clear?"

Patrick nodded.

"About a week before we left fer Malta, Jimmy sent me 'ta his place 'ta grab a couple boxes of ammunition from his safe. In there, I found a duffle wit' at least a couple million U.S.-dollars. Then, before we did the pitch with the bloke from Boston, Jimmy was adamant we can't spend more than twelve-thousand a piece fer the M16's because we supposedly don't 'ave the cash. I guess I don't understand why he'd say we don't 'ave it when he's got all that coin stashed. I keep wonderin' if he's buyin' an' sellin' on his own."

What Catherine had accused Jimmy of was mammoth and could have horrific consequences. The Council didn't take well to anyone—especially Quartermasters—making any sort of profit on the side. It only exploited the cause and made it look as though they were struggling to hold on to loyalty. It wasn't a one-man army, they all worked as a team. Patrick tried to come up with an explanation as to why Jimmy would have that kind of money hiding in his safe. But, there was one that did seem plausible.

"He's tryin' 'ta find a new source fer the M16's. Makes sense that he's got that kinda cash; fuckers aren't cheap right now because of the war in Afghanistan. Since he's got a source inside the U.S. military again, maybe the Council wants him 'ta buy in bulk. Spend two, three mill, on American weapons, we can easily turn around and sell 'em fer double."

Stubbing out her cigarette, she let Patrick's words sink in. From what Jimmy told her after he finished talks with the mob boss, it all made sense. Jimmy never brought the money to Malta because he didn't plan on making a deal, to begin with. So, being able to cross the theory of the Council trying to take out she and Jimmy, now all Catherine could think about was how Liam's source in the counter-terror unit of MI6 more than likely gave him misleading information. Whether that was on purpose or not, she couldn't figure out, but that was for her to worry about at another time. She chose to take Patrick's explanation at face value and run with it. Surely, there was no way a man like Jimmy—who did nothing but preach the importance of loyalty to the cause—would betray the one thing he based his entire life around.

"Aye. Suppose yer right," she said. Getting a good look at her father, Catherine couldn't help but realize how awful he looked with his hair peroxide blond. He was washed out; the dark circles under his faded green eyes were front and center. It looked far better in its natural copper, but those days were long gone. She raised her eyebrows, "maybe it's time fer me 'ta cut an' dye me hair."

Patrick snickered to himself as he stared at his daughter. He hated that she had smiled at her own comment as he, for one, absolutely loved those copper waves that cascaded down her shoulders and back. Catherine Mary was a spitting image of his mother and was her namesake; he didn't want to imagine her looking any different. Even though she had said it in a joking tone, Patrick knew it was anything but. There was no way he could stop her from doing it, considering he sported a new hair color every year. That was his way of attempting to avoid identification by the British Army, as well as the Police Service of Northern Ireland. With what happened the previous night, he couldn't blame Catherine for being a little more fearful than usual.

"Tiocfaidh ár lá." He lifted his coffee mug in a toast.

_Our day will come._

Catherine followed, and they clinked glasses. "Up the RA."

* * *

Sitting at the kitchen table with Olivia and Fiona, Catherine absently stirred her tea. This was the last place on Earth she wanted to be, but Jimmy and Patrick had given her strict orders not to leave. They had taken off not even an hour earlier to meet with the Council to discuss the assassination attempt, and figure out if retaliation was warranted. A part of Catherine was hoping the Council would give them the thumbs up to bring down a Provo wrath, but the Belfast Agreement barred any such doings. The IRA was committed to making the ceasefire work and handle issues, such as this, diplomatically. However, while thinking about the current state of the Short Strand, Catherine didn't see diplomacy working well this time around.

She listened in-and-out to the conversation happening across the table, but her main focus was on Kerrianne. Sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her, Catherine wondered what was going on in the mind of the child. With the question she had asked her earlier in the morning, it was clear to Catherine that Kerrianne wasn't as unwary to her surroundings as she made to believe. Catherine wondered if she had ever looked that innocent while glued to the television, trying to make sense of the whirlwind violence in Belfast. If she had, Catherine then pondered just how much longer it would be until Kerrianne expressed interest in the family legacy.

"Catherine?"

Shaking back to reality at the sound of her name, Catherine looked up to her mother. "Aye."

"Ye'll never guess who I ran in'ta the other mornin' at the market; Mrs. McInnes."

"How's she doin?"

What Catherine wanted to do was roll her eyes and tell Olivia she didn't give two shits about Lorcan McInnes or his mother, and to move on with the conversation. But, she knew it was only meant in good faith and Olivia was doing everything possible to keep herself distracted from the outside world.

"Oh, she's brilliant. Said Lorcan's doin' well in the Royal Marines, so he is." Olivia paused only to take a breath, "I do wish the two of ye would 'ave stayed ta'gether. Ya were such a good couple."

It was painfully obvious what Olivia was trying to do and her efforts were only backfiring. This was her attempt to try and steer Catherine back to her high school boyfriend, and away from her sister-in-law's man.

"Lorcan and I will never get back ta'gether. It's been almost three years Ma, let it go, please?"

Catherine didn't mean for her words to come out with such hostility and the moment they left her mouth, she wished she could take them back. With tensions running high all around and everyone on edge, it was important to keep emotions in check before everything completely fell apart. Catherine apologized to Olivia and then got up to head to the backyard.

The alone time was exactly what she needed. In the last few years, Catherine could count on two hands just how many moments she had to herself. Weeks after she graduated from St. Dominic's, Jimmy had moved her into a modest home, where she had the pleasure of staring at the peace wall separating Short Stand from loyalist Cluan Place. With the wall quite literally in her backyard, there hadn't been a single day pass where either Jimmy or one of his enforcers dropped in, making sure there wasn't any trouble. While she was incredibly grateful for the safeguards, sometimes Catherine wished she wasn't constantly being babysat. Having lived her entire life in the Lower Falls, Catherine was no stranger to the hostility and found it rather insulting that Jimmy didn't think she was capable of taking care of herself. However, after the previous night, Catherine was seriously considering moving back in with her parents.

"Has he lost appeal 'ta ye, yet? The violence only follows 'im, ya know."

Catherine turned around to find Fiona standing self-satisfied. Her arms were crossed over her chest with her chin high, and her left hip popped. Rolling her eyes, Catherine simply lit a cigarette, not looking to fight. She knew Fiona was only trying to get a rise out of her, and if Jimmy were there, she never would have the courage otherwise. This was the first time Fiona had confronted Catherine about her relationship, but she had known what was going on for quite some time.

"Don't start," Catherine warned. "Another time I'll be more than willin' 'ta discuss this wit'cha but, not now."

Christmas Day, two years ago was when Fiona had been forced to come face to face with Jimmy's infidelity. As they attended midnight Mass, Fiona saw the magnificent diamond encrusted Celtic knot pendant hanging around Catherine's neck. She had found the piece of jewelry in Jimmy's desk and assumed it had been for her. The pendant still rested against Catherine's chest and there was no way for Fiona to deny its exquisiteness; it was well suited for the redheaded belle. What made Fiona particularly angry wasn't Jimmy's affair per se, it was the fact he was screwing her niece. Granted, Catherine was family by marriage, but that hadn't stopped Fiona from once loving her as if she were blood.

"Just answer me one question. Of all the men in Belfast, why him?"

"Because he was mine first." Catherine snapped.

That answer surely shut Fiona up.

It was no secret that an incredibly tight bond between Jimmy and Catherine had enfolded during her youth. With Patrick either locked up or on the run for the most part of Catherine's life, it had been Filip who stepped up to help his sister rear her three youngsters. As it turned out, Filip and Jimmy were a package deal; wherever one was, the other wasn't too far behind.

While Filip spent a considerable amount of his time wrangling the stubborn Catherine Mary, it was Jimmy who somehow managed to turn her complaisant. She only listened to him because she realized he was probably the only man in Belfast who she couldn't manipulate. But that didn't mean Jimmy never spoiled her rotten. Less than a year after he had been discharged from the British Army, Catherine had Jimmy wrapped just as tightly around her finger, as he did her.

She would never outright admit it, but Catherine had long been jealous of Jimmy's string of girlfriends, and would often concoct reasons to pull his attention back to her. On several occasions when Jimmy would pick Catherine up and throw her over his shoulder to bring her outside to play, Catherine would lift her head and stick out her tongue to his flavor of the month.

A strong, assertive man, it was Jimmy who thrust Catherine into her sexual awakening when she was fourteen. At sixteen, she had made the boldest move possible and kissed Jimmy when he caught her drinking at an underground IRA pub in East Belfast. When he pushed her off of him and told her to get lost, the reality that Jimmy was committed to raising Kerrianne with Fiona was a tough pill for Catherine to swallow.

She couldn't fathom why a man like him would want her uncle's wife and the unnecessary responsibilities that came along with it. From that day forward, she placed the blame on Fiona for her losing the two men she adored most in life. Little was done on Catherine's part of concealing what was happening when she and Jimmy moved their relationship down a more serious path. Catherine wanted Fiona to know just badly it hurt to watch the man you love, fall head-over-heels for someone else.

There was one thing, however, Catherine knew would hurt Fiona more than her relationship with Jimmy. "I'll be sure 'ta give Filip yer love when I see him next week."

* * *

**A/N: **Next chapter I have Jimmy and Catherine _finally _going to Charming to meet with SAMCRO! I'm stuck between reintroducing Happy into the story or creating a sub-plot between Jax and Catherine. Drop a line, and let me know if you want it to be Happy or Jax who she starts to see on the side.


	9. Slow Hands

It was an overcast Sunday afternoon in October and two members of the Irish Republican Army were waiting at the end of the road. A middle-aged man had stepped out of noon Mass at St. Peter's after receiving Communion, in hopes of avoiding the rush. He unhurriedly crossed the street to his car with his wife on his arm, where he helped her into the passenger seat before rounding around to the driver's side door. Just as he settled in and slipped the key in the ignition, two young men in duffel coats with the hoods pulled over their heads, and balaclavas covering their faces approached the Jaguar. One drew his gun, firing eight bullets through the driver side window. Two of the rounds hit High Court Judge John Brennan in the head, four in the chest, and one was a through-and-through to the abdomen. His wife screamed, having been hit in the thigh with the last. Hearing gunshots and the subsequent screaming, congregants poured out of St. Peter's where they realized a murder had just taken place. The two killers turned and began to run from the growing crowd of church-goers to their getaway car parked down the street.

Once in the car, they pulled off the balaclavas and stuffed them—along with the guns—into a paper bag, which would eventually find its way to the bottom of the River Lagan. Nonchalantly, the driver pulled into traffic, drove less than a half-mile where they ditched the car on Springfield Road. The passenger tucked the paper bag under his arm as they walked the rest of the way to their destination. Pushing through the front door of the home on Hawthorn Street, delicious smells wafted from the kitchen and the laughter of three children greeted them. They hid the bag in the back of the closet before toeing their boots off on the rug.

"Jimmy! Uncle Filip!"

The excited screech of a girl was all Jimmy O'Phelan heard before a blur of bright orange ringlet curls catapulted into his arms. He caught her, and Catherine wrapped one a tiny arm around the back of his neck.

Filip recognized the unamused look on his niece's face, yet her piercing eyes glowed with adoration as she looked up at Jimmy. He tickled the crooked of her neck as he wished Jimmy good luck on the ass-chewing he was about to get from a six-year-old. He took off in search of Fiona, to apologize for the same thing Jimmy would be apologizing to Catherine for.

"Ya promised ye'd be at Mass today." Catherine cocked her head to the side, as she stated the fact.

He truly did feel terrible for not keeping his word to Catherine, but when orders came down, saying no to the officer commanding wasn't an option. Brushing the tip of her nose with his index finger, Jimmy made another promise he knew had little potential of being broken.

"I know and I'm sorry, a chuisle, but I had 'ta work. How 'bout tomorrow me an' Filip get ya from school an' the three of us'll see a movie?"

"Jus' the three of us? No Liam an' Brien?"

Jimmy chuckled and assured Catherine the invite wouldn't be extended to her brothers.

From his spot at the kitchen table, Filip laced his fingers with Fiona's and could only shake his head as he watched Catherine ream Jimmy. What shocked Filip the most was how Jimmy simply took his lecture. The man, who never let a woman of any age dictate his life, was genuinely apologizing. It was official, Filip concluded, Jimmy O was absolutely smitten for the strong-willed Catherine Mary.

Nearly twenty years after that revelation, Filip "Chibs" Telford, walked into a Lodi pub, which acted as a legitimate business for the IRA to launder money through. At his side were five of his brothers, with SAMCRO president, Clay Morrow leading the pack. The men who sat at the bar were instantly recognized as Provos to Filip. They kept to themselves; were dressed in worn jeans and scuffed leather boots, plain t-shirts, and tweed flat caps. No doubt they were heavily armed, just like the SAMCRO men, and were there to offer muscle if need be.

"Fuckin' pussy," Chibs mumbled under his breath.

Jackson Teller used his tongue to toy with the unlit cigarette he had clamped between his teeth. "You cool with this, bro?"

Only two years older than his niece, Chibs always had a soft spot for Jax and appreciated the question of concern. The nightmares from the ending of his close-knit friendship with Jimmy O'Phelan still plagued his sleep every now and again, but this was business and he knew that. There was no room to make it personal, even though Chibs knew Jimmy would the moment he felt as though he was losing control of the meeting.

"You got nothing to worry about," Happy interjected, cracking his knuckles, "he tries anything stupid, I'll lay his ass out."

Now the temptation to instigate his infamous temper was alluring to Chibs, as nothing would make him happier than seeing Jimmy getting the ass kicking he well deserved. He thanked Happy, but denied himself the indulgence of being a shit-starter as it would do nothing but complicate their dependent relationship with the Irish. SAMCRO couldn't afford to piss off the Irish and send them looking for another buyer. Which meant, for the time being, Chibs would have to swallow his pride and once again do whatever he could to bend to Jimmy's ostentatious demands.

"Any idea what the bastard wants to talk about?" Tig slipped sideways into the booth behind Clay, not feeling comfortable with the packed bar. He wondered if they should have asked Tacoma for more manpower than just Happy.

Clay shook his head, being just as in the dark as the rest of his men. Jimmy had been vague in his reasoning for a face-to-face meeting, and it never really happened unless business was bad or the SAMBEL guys fucked up beyond belief.

"Clay, Jackson, pleased 'ta see ye." Jimmy made his way from the back of the pub, extending his hand to the President and VP for a shake. A pompous smile was shot at Chibs once Jimmy realized he was seated behind Jax. Moving aside, he placed a hand on the small of Catherine's back and introduced her. "This is Catherine, my business partner."

Chibs' eyes bulged when he realized who it was standing beside Jimmy. The last time he saw the likes of Catherine Mary, she had been thirteen-years-old. While she still looked every ounce of her father, it utterly killed Chibs to see she had turned into Jimmy's mini-me. Her long hair was blown out with a slight curl, and she wore an expensive deep green skirt suit.

The way Jimmy had his hand resting low on her back told Chibs she was far more than Jimmy's business partner and that made his blood absolutely boil. He wondered what happened to the man who he once considered a brother. The man who had been at his side for nearly twenty years. The man who Chibs had literally killed for. He thought back to 1986 and the High Court Judge he had shot to make sure Jimmy's assault case never made it into a courtroom.

Watching Catherine look up at Jimmy with the burning worship still in her eyes, tore Chibs to pieces. He knew for a fact the only words that would spew from her mouth were the IRA ideals Jimmy had spoon fed her the last decade. His worst nightmare was staring back at him; Catherine had been blinded by love and indoctrination, and he hadn't been in Belfast to stop it.

Scrambling up, Chibs nearly jumped over Tig to get to Catherine. He placed his hand on her forearm as she shook Jax's hand, and when she looked up, it was as though Catherine was staring at a ghost. Blinking hard and fast, it took her a moment to realize who was standing before her. While he looked exactly the same as the day he left, there was no doubting the signs of aging around his eyes. The fast life Chibs lived, wrinkles and gray hairs were a given.

"Mother'a Christ," she lowly bellowed, throwing herself into her uncle's arms.

Chibs wrapped his arms tightly around Catherine, as her fingers curled into the collar of his distressed kutte. This was a day she thought would never come and it was impossible for her to control the tears that left streaks in her foundation. Catherine took a deep breath, wanting to remember the scents of leather, tobacco, and exhaust. Just as they had done countless times when she was a child, Chibs could feel her fingers gripping the ends of his hair at the nape of his neck. She was just as beautiful now than the day he left, and Chibs felt beyond robbed having missed her grow up. It wasn't a fluke that she was there, Chibs knew Jimmy had purposely brought Catherine to tease him. She was the closest thing to Fiona and Kerrianne he would ever get.

"I've fuckin' missed ya, Caitie." He was afraid that if he let her go, she'd be gone. As long as she was with him, she was safe. "Hell are ya doin' here?"

Catherine pulled back and used the pads of her thumbs to delicately wipe the tears from under her eyes. "Been workin' me arse off wit' Jimmy. Lookin' 'ta make commander, soon."

Chibs looked over Catherine's shoulder to Jimmy. He knew there was no way Jimmy would ever allow her to move up into officer status. She was naive and in love, and believed whatever lies he fed her. The responsibilities would be handed off to Liam, and Jimmy would give her just enough to keep Catherine feeling involved, but she would always remain under his thumb. Nonetheless, Jimmy wanted her at the table so she could see her venture through from start to finish. After all, it had been her who secured the new pipeline with the Russians.

Jimmy gestured for Catherine to slid into the booth. "Ye first, a chuisle."

Hearing that Jimmy still referred to her as his pulse, Chibs wanted to jump over the table and rip his head off. Once Clay, Jax, Happy, and Tig realized who the redhead was, they knew they'd have to keep a closer eye on the two men.

"Alright, what's all this about?" Clay asked.

Catherine looked to her commanding officer, waiting for him to give her the nod to start. Although it was far from the first business transaction Catherine had found herself in the middle of, the jitters never went away. When cash flow rested on her ability her sell stock, her heart always pounded a little harder and faster than normal. Jimmy gave her the go-ahead and she started.

"Our German pipeline dried up—"

"Why?" Chibs knew he was being rude by interrupting Catherine, but, he couldn't help himself. "Ya sleep wit' yer supplier's wife, niece, too, Jimmy?"

Catherine's eyes darted between Jimmy and Chibs, embarrassed her uncle would even think to say that. How the hell did he know about her relationship with Jimmy? Resting her shaky hands in her lap, Catherine straightened herself to give the appearance she hadn't been rattled. Everyone in the pub could feel the pure hatred between the men growing dense and it left Catherine wondering if she should have done this on her own.

Jimmy had been prepared to keep it civil. Another reason why he had brought Catherine was in hopes it would force both of them to behave. Neither wanted to hurt Catherine and throwing insults at one another would do just that.

He took over for Catherine, hoping that jumping in would calm Chibs down. "The cost of AK's is at an all-time low, and they're the most sought after weapon by the low-level street gangs. We can make SAMCRO the main distributor of them,"

"Those rifles are heavy shit."

Catherine's eyes met with the owner of the raspy voice that unexpectedly made her heart flutter. His dark, apathetic orbs were locked with her sapphire ones and the first thing she noticed was the tattoos spread along his russet skin.

Without thinking, she spoke. "Aye, but me sources told me no one in this area has been able 'ta break in 'ta the former Eastern Bloc market. That means no one is movin' Kalashnikov's. There's an opportunity for bigger profits 'ta be made all around."

Chibs lost his filter after hearing Jimmy was using Catherine to make himself more money. "Surprise, surprise. It's never enough for ya, Jimmy. Always wantin' more than ya got."

"I'm really tryin' 'ta be diplomatic here, Clay." Jimmy turned to the president to settle his man down.

Catherine played with the pendant that rested on her chest as she watched the verbal sparring. It left her beyond confused, unable to comprehend the anger between the men she most admired. The last time Catherine saw them together, it was Saint Patrick's Day of 1993 and they had been drinking and goofing off like usual.

"Were Fiona and Kerrianne not enough fer ya?"

Chibs' question sent Jimmy over the edge. "Ye know I've always had me eyes on her. Maybe I 'oughta give that sister of yers a grandbaby."

"Jimmy!" Catherine roared, as Chibs tried to reach across the table and grab him.

She couldn't believe those words had actually left his mouth and she wanted to give him a fat lip. Her face turned about four shades of red as she pushed him out of the booth so she could go outside for a cigarette. Turning around, she saw Jimmy gleefully smirking at Chibs as Tig held him back.

Wagging her finger back and forth between Jimmy and Chibs, she tried to come up with words to reprimand them with, but she couldn't find any. Instead, Catherine grumbled infuriatingly and stormed outside.

The warm wind hit Catherine in the face and did very little to cool her down. Watching the interaction between Chibs and Jimmy left her fuming and wishing he had never brought her there in the first place. Being her first trip to the United States, it quickly lost all its appeal and she wanted nothing more than to be back on the Emerald Isle. She had always suspected something hideous had gone down with them and that was why no one could bring themselves to open up to her about it. For nearly ten years she had been searching for any lick of truth and what she witnessed spoke louder than words ever could.

What frustrated her the most was that this was how her reunion with Chibs had gone down. It was so far beyond how she had expected. If she had known he would be at the table, Catherine would have made sure they met before talking business. What she couldn't quite figure out was whether or not Chibs' displeasure with Jimmy was personal or industry related. She knew Chibs had been excommunicated from the ranks of the IRA so, she figured that was the leading cause.

Pushing the back door of the pub open, Jax found Catherine pacing and muttering to herself in Gaelic. He had never really heard that language being spoken, but for some reason, he found it far more beautiful than French as the words rolled off her tongue.

"Smoke?" he asked, startling Catherine.

She stopped in her tracks and looked down to the pack of cigarettes he was holding open to her. Only then did she realize she had left her's inside. Smiling weakly, she pulled one out and placed it between her strikingly red lips. Jax flipped his Zippo and Catherine grabbed his wrist as she brought her cigarette to the flame.

"Thanks," she exhaled the smoke through her nostrils as she spoke.

"What the fuck was that about?"

Catherine wished she had an answer for him. All she could do was shrug her shoulders and focus on smoking. Jax wished that wasn't her first impression of the mother charter, but he really couldn't blame Chibs for blowing up as he had. This was the first time he had seen Jimmy since leaving Belfast and the wounds were still fresh. The best thing to do was get back to business.

"Where were you goin' with the AK's?"

Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, Catherine stepped closer to Jax so he could hear her hushed tone. The sexy scent of her sweet and fruity perfume sent Jax's head spinning and he fought to pay attention to her words. She was far more intoxicating than any Irish whiskey.

As he watched her mouth form words, all he could think about was how badly he wanted that classic red lipstick of hers smeared all over his mouth. He had only just learned her name fifteen minutes prior but, Jax was a hot-blooded male who was twisted for smolderingly sexy women.

"True IRA is pickin' up momentum. The six counties are gettin' hot an' we need ta bring in more cash."

"So, you want us to run them?"

"Not necessarily," she said, smiling. "SAMCRO sells ta whomever they please in Northern Cali, Washington, Oregon. We just ask that we remain the only supplier in the area. If ya catch wind that someone else is lookin' 'ta break in'ta the market, jus' let us know an' we'll take care of it."

_You can take care of me, _Jax thought.

Jax nodded and flicked his cigarette to the ground. "I may be able to get them on board. We'll talk tomorrow; go over numbers and then I'll bring it to the table. I promise I'll have an answer for you before you head home."

"Appreciate it, Jackson." Catherine held her hand and offered a kittenish smile.

Internally, she was jumping for joy over the fact she had managed to salvage the colossal deal Jimmy nearly fucked up.

Back in the pub, Catherine wasn't surprised to find SAMCRO long gone. Jimmy was sitting on a barstool at the end of the bar, a tumbler of scotch glued to his lips. At the sound of her pumps clicking on the wood floor, Jimmy set the glass down and stood to give Catherine his seat.

"Yer welcome, O'Phelan," Catherine didn't bother looking at him as she took his glass and polished off the rest of the scotch. "I'm meetin' with Jackson in the afternoon, 'ta go over numbers an' he promised 'ta bring it up fer a vote."

Shame and remorse weren't feelings Jimmy was accustom to feeling. As Catherine sat there, eyes forward, he was having a hard time coming to terms with the fact he had lost his cool. For the first time in their relationship, Catherine had to clean up a mess he created. While he was beyond impressed she had managed to smooth things over and get Jax interested in the deal, it still made him look beyond unprofessional. Most distressing, it made him look weak to Catherine like he couldn't handle the verbal jabs being thrown at him.

Plucking the freshly lit cigarette from her lips, Jimmy took it for himself. He hated to see her smoke and he hated it even more that she was practically ignoring him. "Talk ta me,"

"What the fuck happened?"

Venom dripped from her words. She had every right to be upset with him, and he owed her an explanation.

He poured four fingers of Johnnie Walker for them to share.

"That was ten years of resentment comin' 'ta the surface. Ya gotta realize, when Filip left Belfast, t'was ugly. He fucked up an' found 'imself outta the True Army. Things fell apart between 'im an' Fiona, an' he's still ragin' that she came 'ta me wit' Kerrianne."

At the mere mention of Fiona, Catherine rolled her eyes. "She should'a left Belfast wit' Filip, as far as I'm concerned."

And just like that, Chibs was far from her mind.

Stubbing the cigarette out in the plastic ashtray, Jimmy placed two fingers on Catherine's cheek and turned her face so she was looking at him.

"Jealously looks hideous on ya, love."

Catherine lifted the glass to her mouth and took a sip. She welcomed the burn in her chest and stomach as she licked a bead of scotch from her lower lip. There was no stopping the envy that gripped Catherine when it came to Jimmy's relationship with Fiona. After all, she was human and what woman enjoyed watching the man she loved to go home to another family. The only satisfaction Catherine had, was the fact she was guaranteed the next three weeks of Jimmy all to herself.

"Please, I'm not jealous."

She knew that sounded about as convincing as when Jimmy tried to tell her he wasn't threatened by Lorcan. He gloated for weeks after Catherine told him their relationship had fallen apart. When the news reached him that Lorcan had enlisted in the Royal Marines, Jimmy bought every patron in the pub a round of shots in celebration.

"Besides," Jimmy placed his hand on Catherine's bare knee, tracing small circles with his thumb. "Ye know ye've got nothin' 'ta worry about. Yer my girl."

Catherine shifted in the barstool so she was facing him before hiking her skirt up in order to spread her knees a little more. Once she opened herself up to him, Jimmy squeezed himself between her legs.

Peering over her shoulder, he made sure none of the other men were paying them any attention before sliding his hand up her skirt. He darted straight for what she was offering him. Catherine's lashes fluttered when she felt his thumb run along her pantie covered slit.

"Jesus," he murmured. "Yer fuckin' soaked."

The gravel in his voice only made her panties grow damper. Catherine slipped her hands under his suit jacket and placed them on his sides. "I think ya may need 'ta search a wee bit more, jus' 'ta be sure."

Jimmy had to clamp his teeth down on his lower lip to keep himself from groaning at her suggestion. This woman was going to be the death of him.

Just to be absolutely sure eyes weren't on them, he gazed around the pub once again. There were seven men sitting farther down the bar from them, their attention glued on their pints. The bartender was busy in banter as he dried and stacked glasses. Thankfully the music was just loud enough to drown out the conversation between the couple.

Slipping his fingers under the edge of her panties, Jimmy nearly died when he came in contact with her hot slickness. He could feel her nails bite into his skin through the material of his shirt as he slipped a finger inside of her. Her mouth fell open at the exquisite pleasure and he warned her in Gaelic to stay quiet, just before sliding his middle finger in.

Jimmy glided his fingers in and out at a deliciously slow pace, enjoying the torment he was bringing about Catherine's body. Her breaths started to become quick and more shallow. She bit her lip.

He brushed his thumb over her clit, causing her forehead to fall and land on his chest.

"Who made ya this wet?" he whispered into her ear.

Catherine's mind was short-circuiting to the point she couldn't form a coherent thought. The lazy circles he traced along her caused nearly all of her nerve endings to burst. She was far more concentrated on not crying out in hedonism than answering Jimmy's question.

With his free hand, Jimmy gathered Catherine's hair in his fist and pulled her head up so their eyes met. "I'm not gonna ask ya again."

The words gargled in her throat and she managed to spit them out. "Ye did, Jimmy."

She knew how much he loved it when she said his name. When she lifted her lashes to stare into his eyes, she saw the storm of desire. He saw the pleading expression on her face; she was so close to the blissful edge and his tantalizingly relaxed speed was only drawing out her release.

Wrapping an arm around Catherine, Jimmy pulled her into him. Her forehead once again rested on his pectoral as he brought his mouth to her ear. The feeling of his hot breath caused her to shiver, and goosebumps exploded all over her body.

"I fuckin' spoil ya, sweetheart."

Whispering to her, Jimmy curled his middle finger hitting that sweet spot buried deep. Putting her out of her misery, he brushed it again and pressed his thumb to her clit. Just as expected, Catherine grew tense in his arm, her body exploding in pure ecstasy.


	10. Power and Control

In his forty-one years of life, Jimmy found he could tell a lot by an Irish woman's hands. Currently, as Catherine's were placed around his neck, he could sense she was angry.

Slowly blinking his eyes, Jimmy was afraid to take them off of her because there was no telling what she would do next. He quickly glanced around, making sure there was nothing in arms reach that she could snatch and hit him with. In an attempt to free himself from the hold Catherine had him in, Jimmy wanted to kick his own ass for pushing her to take Krav Maga classes. He had officially succeeded in turning her into a weapon, and the day where she used it against him had finally come.

She managed to out-smart his venture to put her into a headlock, and he ended up pinned against the kitchen wall with her forearm roughly shoved against his throat. Her knee jabbed into his groin.

"Ya tell me the fuckin' truth, Jimmy." She demanded.

Jimmy could only cough deeply from his sudden decrease of air and fought the wave of nausea. His eyes fluttered from the dizziness that accompanied Catherine thrusting her knee further up. She had his right wrist pinned to prevent him from reaching for the switchblade she knew he kept in his pocket. The fingers of his left hand had tangled into her hair at the roots, and he pulled just enough to cause tiny beads of tears to collect along her water line.

"Aye," he spat, "I did it 'ta Filip. I carved his fuckin' face, but I did it for ye."

Hearing his words, Catherine's face softened, but her stronghold didn't. At this point, she was afraid to let him go. She wasn't sure who the man staring back at her was.

After her meeting with Jax, Clay, and Chibs just hours prior, she disobeyed Jimmy by accepting Chibs' invitation for a few pints. Deep into her third Guinness and fourth shot of Jameson, Pandora's box opened when she curiously asked Chibs where his facial scars had come from. She never remembered him having them in Belfast. Chibs didn't hold anything back from his niece, she deserved to hear the truth about the man she was romantically involved with. Partly too, because Chibs feared for the day when Jimmy would inevitably do the same to her.

"Yer a fuckin' liar. Ya did it 'ta get closer 'ta Fiona, that's what Filip said. I was an eejit 'ta think ye'd ever love me…ya won't even say it 'ta me."

Jimmy rapidly realized there were two issues that needed to be addressed, but the reason why she had him pinned to the wall took precedence.

The sight of Catherine with tears streaming down her blotchy cheeks made Jimmy forget about the pain in his groin and stomach. He wanted another chance to beat the life out of Chibs as this was his fault. If he hadn't opened his mouth, Catherine would have continued to live in the blissful ignorance Patrick, Olivia, and Fiona agreed to keep the O'Toole children in.

"Ya destroyed me family. Filip left because of ye!" she rasped.

"I did me best to keep everythin' together fer ye, and yer brother's when yer da was in Long Kesh, and I kept Fiona an' Kerrianne off the streets when Filip left. T'was Filip who destroyed yer family when he grassed on yer da."

Hearing that her uncle ratted on her father was enough of a revelation for Catherine to place her foot on the floor. She still kept her grip tight on his wrist. He loosened his fingers in her hair.

"Yer lyin'. He would never do that—"

"Why would I lie ta ye about that, Catherine?" He interjected.

"Ye remember that early morn, don't ya? He's the reason ya didn't see yer da fer four years an' he's the reason ye've got this scar." Jimmy removed his hand from her hair so he could run his thumb over the scar that ran from her forehead, deep into her scalp. "How else would the Brits have known yer da was back in Belfast? Filip was the only one privy ta the fact Paddy went home that night."

She didn't want to believe her uncle was capable of such disloyalty, and she didn't want to believe Jimmy was capable of such violence. She wished she could close her eyes and be in another lifetime when she opened them. As Catherine tried to process what Jimmy had told her, she hated herself for taking what he was saying at face value. Unfortunately for Chibs, he had too many cards stacked against him for his word to be taken over Jimmy's. The pieces fell into place as she thought back to that muggy August morning. She hadn't even known Patrick was home until he was resisting his arrest in the hallway.

"What do ya mean ya did it fer me? What did I have 'ta do wit' any of it?"

Much to Jimmy's delight, but her own stupidity, Catherine uncurled her fingers from his wrist.

"When McKeavey told me t'was Filip who was the tout, all I kept imagin' was ye sittin' at the table wit Fiona holdin' that towel 'ta yer head, blood pourin' down yer face. I lost me fuckin' mind, Catherine, an' yeah, I beat Filip jus as those soldier boys beat ye. When I was wailin' on 'im, all I could think about was how ya didn't cry a single tear the entire time, even when ya were gettin' stitched up. Ya were fightin' so hard ta be strong. Wit'out thinkin' I grabbed me blade an' carved 'im up."

The way her hold against his throat relaxed told Jimmy she was soaking in his words. There truly was no reason for her not to believe him and it seemed too plausible. It also made sense to her as to why no one spoke of Chibs anymore. A man who turned supergrass was as good as dead.

Before Catherine had a chance to realize her earlier mistake, Jimmy grabbed her wrist and painfully twisted her arm behind her back. All the while, his right-hand dove into his pocket where he grabbed his blade and flicked it open. Remembering her own training, Catherine used her free arm to block the blade as best she could as Jimmy brought it down. Considering the submissive position he had her in, there wasn't much Catherine could do as the sharp blade tore through not only her blouse but skin too. It wasn't long before she could feel the hot blood begin to dampen her shirt and run down her ribcage.

Nothing pissed Jimmy off more than Catherine using her skills against him. He understood she had come back to the safe house confused and angry over Chibs' attempted Guinness therapy session, but he wouldn't tolerate her use of force. Catherine had no idea what she was going up against when she barged into the house and immediately broke out the hand-to-hand combat. His resistance to fight back was the only time Jimmy would ever let her think she had power over him and now he planned to humble her.

Letting her wrist go, Jimmy all but handed Catherine the blade to see what she would do with it. He instantly knew her mind was no longer properly focused and she was flooded with too much anger. There was no denying he was equal parts impressed and hurt by the fact she wasted no time in her endeavor to shove the blade up into his gut. However, Jimmy's skills were sharper and before Catherine could blink, he blocked her, twisting her arm away from her body so he could maneuver the knife loose. To teach her a lesson, Jimmy slashed her once more, this time deeper. Through gritted teeth, Catherine grunted from the harsh sting. She knew she was losing her edge and she wasn't sure how to regain control. He was fucking with her head and she couldn't figure out how or why.

Jimmy decided to give it one last go. Handing the knife back to her, Catherine then lunged again. Surprisingly, this go-around she put up a fight. The only sounds reverberating off the kitchen walls were their heavy breathing, grunts, and shoes squeaking on the floor as they blocked jabs and twisted each other's limbs.

Jimmy had sparred with Catherine at the gym a handful of times over the years, but this felt different for both of them. When she managed to land a rather powerful blow to his lower chest, elbow him in the nose, and knee him once more in the crotch, Jimmy concluded that she was very much attempting to hurt him. Even with the wind knocked out of him, Jimmy's own combat training quickly came back and after a short struggle, he managed to get her into a backward chock hold.

After slamming her face into the wall, Jimmy let her go before tossing her to the floor. Picking up the knife from the ground, Jimmy crawled on top of Catherine, sinking his knee into her upper abdomen before jabbing the blade against her throat. Hovering above her, Jimmy watched as drops of blood from his nose fell and landed on Catherine's cheek. Her own nose was bloodied and he could hear her hawking clots. She winced as he dug the blade in more, and could feel her skin slice once again.

No longer did Catherine care about her scarred body and took pride in whatever new ones came along. She felt as though she was collecting them as proof that she was paying for the sins she committed.

"Don't ever get angry, a chuisle." Jimmy was out of breath as he spoke. "When ye get angry, ya get foolish. When ya become foolish, that's when ye die."

"Don't go easy on me next time." She grabbed his wrist and pulled the blade away from her neck. Her breathing was labored too.

There were no hard feelings between the couple as Catherine had enough faith that Jimmy would never intentionally hurt her. At this point in their twisted relationship, an encounter like this could easily be considered foreplay. While it was the first time they had wailed on one another outside of the gym, Catherine never wanted it to happen again. Her intuition told her the next time it did happen, Jimmy would be out for blood and wouldn't stop until she no longer had a pulse.

Licking the corner of her mouth, she could taste the metallic tinge of Jimmy's blood as it dribbled down her cheek and over her lips. When she asked him if he was going to apologize for slashing her, Jimmy only snarled and bared his teeth before wrapping his hands around her neck. His thumbs pressed forcefully down on her airway. While it was something she was occasionally used to in bed, it sparked a slight panic in Catherine when he refused to let go of her.

"Seriously, Jimmy, stop!" She used her forearms to try and break his hold on her, but the more she struggled, the harder he pressed.

What Catherine didn't know was that without any physical signs, Jimmy had snapped. His heart was beating with such fury it almost exploded in his chest. Hearing her call him a liar when she confronted him about Chibs had lit a fuse Catherine had no idea was even there. That tore him up far more than her blatant disobedience.

Those hadn't been her words, they were Chibs' and Jimmy knew he had told Catherine not to believe any other versions of the story. Jimmy wanted to bash her face in for even doubting him. Out of everyone in her life, he was the only one who had ever been honest with her. If she was going to question him, he wondered if it was time to stop making her privy to any details at all.

This was the side of Jimmy that Catherine had never seen, only heard about. He set fire to the world around him but made sure not a single flame touched her. Until today. No longer were his eyes light, but they were dark and full of indignation. That was when Catherine stopped fighting as she knew this wasn't something she was going to win.

His even-tempered voice echoed loudly in the kitchen and in her head. "Ya pull that shit again outside of the gym, or see Filip anytime before we leave, I will squeeze that fuckin' neck of yers wit' razor wire. Ya understand me, Catherine?"

The lukewarm expression on Jimmy's face told her that wasn't a threat. It was a promise he would make good on.

Catherine could feel the blood pounding behind her eyes and her face was turning a deep shade a red. Her attempt to verbally answer only came in the form of a gargle as she struggled to breathe, so she viciously nodded. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, attempt some pathetic show that she wasn't intimidated nor at his mercy. Both of which she was. With hysteria pounding in her ears, she chose to stay calm and tell him whatever it was he wanted to hear so he'd let her go.

Finally releasing her, Jimmy moved off Catherine. He watched as she rolled to her side, coughing hard and deep. The whopping sound coming from her sent a chill down his spine. It was the first time he had lost control with her and he never wanted her to see that side of him again. There was no one in life he loved more than Catherine and when she didn't fight him as he moved to wrap her in his arms, he took that as a good sign.

Catherine knew she was being a fool for allowing her body to utterly melt against Jimmy's. He had managed to turn her life so upside she barely recognized it anymore, but that didn't stop her from running back to him. She meant what she said about feeling like an idiot; she loved him, but he would never love her as long as Fiona was in the picture.

Jimmy knew he had the inability to tell Catherine he loved her more than his own life, and that was something he would never dare admit. All of the jewelry and clothes, the house, were all material objects he dolefully gave her in an attempt to make up for the fact he was emotionally stunted. They only went so far and she needed to hear it from him before she went back to Lorcan. That breakup had only happened in order to humor Jimmy. He was smart enough to know Lorcan was her safety net and she wouldn't hesitate to go back to her high school boyfriend.

It was time to address the second issue of the night.

Jimmy stood up and helped Catherine into a chair at the table. He grabbed a wad of paper towel for her to hold against the one cut on her side that was still slightly bleeding. Lighting a cigarette, he pressed his lower back again the counter.

"Listen," he blew out a cloud of smoke and snapped his Zippo closed. "I know why ye've been ragin' lately, but it's somethin' I have ta do on me own. Okay?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and tossed the paper towel onto the table. "It's been four fuckin' years. If ye can't say it now, ye'll never be able 'ta."

The cigarette burned between his fingers as his hands rested on the edge of the counter. He tried to force the words out but they wouldn't dislodge from his throat. To some degree, Jimmy was hoping Catherine could read his mind and they could call it a day.

She was beyond upset that she couldn't get him to say those three words. Catherine wondered if Fiona had been right all along. Maybe she was nothing more than Jimmy's prostitute. That was definitely a role she no longer wanted to have the lead in, and right then and there, she decided she'd ask to be transferred to a different unit once they got back to Belfast. Catherine was tired of living her life as if she and Jimmy were already married, while he was just enjoying the fun.

Standing up from the table, Catherine ignored Jimmy as he called out to her. She headed down the hall to their shared bedroom where she wasted no time in shedding her bloodied top. In her pants and bra, Catherine then headed into the bathroom to wash the crusty blood and makeup from her face. She dressed in a fresh sleeveless blouse before slipping on a pair of flats and grabbing her purse.

Turning off the bedroom light, Catherine headed back into the kitchen where she found Jimmy hadn't moved an inch. She really didn't care if he was going through any emotional turmoil; she was tired of his bullshit.

"Fuck do ya think yer goin?" He asked as Catherine grabbed the spare set of keys to the SUV.

She wasn't even sure where to go but needed to put a few miles between her and Jimmy. As she walked through the kitchen and to the front door, he followed her, growing more irritated as she ignored his demands. When she opened the door, Jimmy quickly slammed it shut and Catherine turned around to face him.

"Ye fuckin' leave, an' I swear 'ta all that is holy, Catherine, I will put yer ass on a plane back ta Belfast."

That was a bluff worth risking, Catherine thought. At this point, she wanted nothing more than to be back at her parent's home in the Lower Falls. Two-and-a-half more weeks alone with Jimmy sounded like pure hell to her.

She sucked her teeth and let out a deep sigh. Twisting the doorknob, Catherine stepped out into the warm night air, peering over her shoulder to Jimmy. "Book me a window seat, yeah? Oh, an' make sure it's a flight ta Heathrow; I wanna see Lorcan before he ships out."


	11. Whiskey Rebellion

Of all places in the state of California, Catherine couldn't believe she was stupid enough to show up at the SAMCRO clubhouse. Parked down the street, she tossed her cigarette out the window before rolling it up and killing the engine. From her purse, she grabbed her phone and slipped it into her pocket while stuffing her purse under the seat. With a deep breath, she exited the SUV, locked it, and walked towards the blasting Rob Zombie.

This was far from her first Sons of Anarchy party. Brien and Padaric had invited her to plenty of the SAMBEL bashes in the past, but she wasn't sure her presence here would be received as warmly as it was back home. Even though SOA and the True Army had a well-oiled commercial partnership, the two groups typically didn't mix socially for many reasons. The possibility of law enforcement connecting them was the priority.

Crossing the threshold into the parking lot of Teller-Morrow, Catherine flexed her hands several times in an attempt to stop the nervous tremor. She was instantly greeted to a rowdy group crowded around a boxing ring. Even in the dark, Catherine recognized one of the Sons in the ring from their original meeting at the pub. Remembering how his raspy voice and uniquely dark eyes had caused her heart to nearly code, Catherine made a note to stay away from him. He had "trouble" written in bold letters right across his forehead.

Her plan to try and blend in quickly unraveled when Catherine slunk into the clubhouse. In a sea of scantily-clad women—most of them topless—she stuck out like a sore Provo thumb. Dressed business casual in Capri black pants and a cobalt blue sleeveless blouse, never in her life had Catherine felt so self-conscious. She was usually long gone before the SAMBEL soirées reached this level of raucous.

Hit with the pungent aroma of pot and sweat, Catherine ignored it as she worked her way further into the clubhouse. Thankfully everyone was too engrossed in their own preoccupations to take notice to her as she looked around. When she spotted a blonde on her knees with a cock deep in her throat, Catherine wondered if it was too late to head back to the house and attempt to make up with Jimmy.

At the bar, Catherine stood off to the side and kept her head on a swivel as she looked for her uncle. The pain from the deeper cut was beginning to throb more and she held her arm to her side in order to keep pressure on it.

"You must be the IRA princess Jax has been talking non-stop about for the last twenty-four hours."

Catherine's ear perked up when she realized the Hispanic man behind the bar with a short mohawk was talking to her. She turned to him only briefly to show she had heard him, but then quickly went back to scouting out Chibs.

"It's that obvious?" She asked over the music.

"The tattoo," he raised an eyebrow as he placed two glasses in front of her and poured a double shot of Jameson in each. "An' the accent ya got there, lass."

Realizing the arm she had casually resting on the bar showed off the fairly large shamrock tattoo on the inside of her upper forearm, Catherine dropped it to her side. She also couldn't help but laugh at his horrific attempt at a Dublin accent, which sounded nothing like her Belfast brogue.

"Catherine. I'm Filip…Chibs' niece."

She didn't know why she felt the need to throw that piece of information in. Maybe if they knew she was related to a patch member, they wouldn't throw her out.

"Juice," when he noticed the way her eyebrow shot up, he clarified. "It's a nickname."

Juice handed her the glass as she slightly nodded. They clinked and Catherine offered a "sláinte," before tossing the liquor back. Before she had a chance to fully swallow, an arm wrapping around her shoulders surprised her.

"Jimmy know yer here?"

Setting her glass down, Catherine wiped a droplet of whiskey off her chin with the back of her hand. It wasn't the alcohol making her mind swim, it was Jimmy's word echoing over and over.

"_T'was Filip who destroyed yer family when he grassed on yer da." _

Before she had the chance to open her mouth and answer, Juice piped to Chibs. "I don't see the resemblance. There's no way a woman this beautiful can be related to you."

"Do ya ever think before ya speak, prospect?" Chibs inquired.

Catherine decided it would be best to keep her nose out of that conversation but she happily took the compliment. The SAMBEL guys and the lads from Dungloe—with the exception of Scrum—were devastatingly afraid to even so much as look at Catherine, for they feared the wrath of Jimmy O.

To keep it between them, she asked Chibs in Gaelic if she could speak to him privately. The shakiness of her voice didn't go unnoticed by Chibs, and he set his beer down before quickly ushering her into a quiet room in the back of the clubhouse.

"Everythin' okay, a thaisce?"

Hearing him call her his treasure once again almost brought Catherine to tears. She never thought she'd see the day where that happened. Having been the first girl born after a long streak of nephews, Chibs, like Patrick, had been over the moon when a girl finally came into the bloodline, and thus she became their treasure.

Chibs knew for a fact she never would have risked coming to the clubhouse unless something was the matter. He quickly noted the small scab beginning to form in the center of her neck, along with the faint finger-shaped bruises her hair failed to cover. Moving her thick copper locks to the side, Chibs nearly had a heart attack when he saw there were three more distinct marks. He damn near lost it when Catherine lifted her shirt to reveal the profound cut on her side. It was deep; bits of fatty tissue was visible along the edges.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill 'im.

"T'wasn't his fault," Catherine was quick to defend Jimmy and Chibs wasn't surprised. He couldn't wait to hear the weak excuse she was about to make for the Irish bastard. "I attacked him first, he was only defendin' himself."

It didn't matter to Chibs if Catherine struck first. He could count of four hands the number of times Fiona backhanded him, but he never countered the hit. To him, there was never an excuse to respond with violence as unfortunately, the females in his life always went in for the kill when their emotions got the best of them.

Chibs eased Catherine on to the bed before heading straight into the en suite bathroom. He dug through the cabinets looking for a stitch of gauze but found none. Toilet paper and electrical tape would have to make due for now. He sat beside Catherine, instructing her to hold her shirt up while he applied the makeshift bandage.

"He do this often?"

"No, he's never gotten like this wit' me, before."

With her body flecked with scars as bad as it was, Chibs wasn't sure if he actually believed her. However, being in the True Army, getting banged up was just an occupational hazard. His own body told a thousand stories of near misses and mistakes he'd never make again.

"Ya obviously wanted me ta see this."

Catherine had forgotten just how forthright Chibs was and to some degree, she couldn't even figure out why she had come there in the first place. Maybe on some level, she had wanted Chibs to see what Jimmy had done to her, but she also knew of the risk she was taking by seeing him. There was only so much her uncle could do as he wouldn't be able to protect her once she was back in Belfast.

She knew for a fact she hadn't come to confront Chibs about the story Jimmy had told her but the words just spilled out of her mouth.

"Jimmy told me yer a tout. That yer the one who told the RUC me Da was back in Belfast the night before he was arrested."

Chibs physically recoiled as if Catherine had slapped him. Now, he was boiling with fury and he told himself to play it cool as he didn't want to explode on Catherine. She was nothing more than an innocent bystander in this entire mess, although her passionate relationship with Jimmy wasn't doing much to calm the situation. In fact, it was doing the opposite and only complicated things further.

Deciding the best play was to tread lightly as clearly she would run back and tell this to Jimmy, Chibs chose his words carefully.

"Well, Jimmy has his facts wrong." Chibs tossed the roll of tape onto the messy nightstand and stood up. He found an abandoned pack of Marlboros on the dresser and handed one to Catherine before toking up.

Smoking around Jimmy was the eight deadly sin so she enjoyed the heavenly nicotine buzz once it hit her bloodstream. "Then who the fuck was it?"

Chibs wasn't sure if he could bring himself to tell Catherine the truth as it would absolutely devastate her. The rat was closer to her than she thought. He had taken responsibility for letting it slip to Liam that Patrick would be coming home that night. The saying, 'loose lips cost lives,' had been a tough lesson for the eldest O'Toole to learn. Seeing as to how he was now in the True Army himself, Chibs knew Liam had made penance. There was no reason to make the deeply loyal Catherine privy to her brother's dear adolescent mistake. It also worried Chibs as to what she would do with that piece of information.

"The shite between Jimmy an' I's got nothin' ta do wit' yer Da. Don't let 'im tell ya otherwise. That's all ya need 'ta know."

"Does he really love Fiona?" Catherine wanted to slap herself for asking such a stupid question, and she wanted to take the words back the moment they left her mouth.

Of all things, Chibs couldn't believe that was the one thing she was hyper-focused on. He hadn't the slightest clue as to who the woman sitting in front of him was. The Catherine Mary, he thought he knew wouldn't put up with a man who sliced her body or left bruises around her neck.

What the fuck was going on in Belfast? Chibs thought.

"A thaisce, ye really can be such a stupid lass, ya know that?" He didn't mean it as an insult, he meant it in the sincerest way possible. "He's a dangerous man, an' ya need 'ta stay away from him."

There was no doubt his warning had fallen onto deaf ears, seeing as her only focus was trying to decode Jimmy's feelings about Fiona. Tomorrow morning, she would go back to Jimmy as if nothing happened and keep living in in the fantasy he had crafted for her. Chibs could never understand the fascination those two had for another and he wasn't sure he wanted any details on the life that followed after he left.

Not wanting to divulge any more for the night, Chibs laid out for Catherine how the next twelve hours would go. She protested his insistence on her getting a cheap room to spend the night in.

"I can't let ya stay the night here," Chibs said, combing his fingers through his hair.

"Oh, please let me stay an' have a few drinks. Nothin' I haven't already seen at the SAMBEL clubhouse."

The debauchery around the clubhouse wasn't what caused Chibs' guard to soar when it came to having Catherine there. Knowing just how stubborn she is, Chibs was confident she had left against Jimmy's threats and it wouldn't be long the streets within a fifty-mile radius of Lodi were crawling with Provo's looking for her. The SAMCRO clubhouse would be at the top of the search list and God only knew what hell would rain down if she were found out.

Even with Jimmy's threat of squeezing her neck with razor wire, Catherine couldn't bring herself to spend another minute away from Chibs. She wanted to soak up every precious moment, afraid it would be the last time she'd ever see him.

Catherine could tell by his body language that this wasn't a fight she was going to win. That didn't stop her from deploying the secret weapon she always kept stashed away for dire situations. Folding her hands in her lap, Catherine looked up at Chibs with those doe sapphire eyes, fluttering her lashes in a pleading way.

She melted him like butter with those puppy-dog eyes, but it was the shadowy bruising on her neck that solidified his decision. Reaching for a pen on the dresser, Chibs scribbled down directions to a Charming address on the back of an old receipt and handed it to her.

"Ya know it's not personal, a thaisce, it's business." Chibs cleared his throat in an attempt to keep tears at bay. Turning Catherine away when she was desperate was one of the hardest things he's ever had to do. That didn't mean he wouldn't do what he could to help her. "That's the address 'ta my place. There's a nurse at the hospital who owes me a favor, so I'll have her head over an' suture ya up. Stay the night there, but make sure yer back in Lodi early because he will find you."

Standing to her feet, Catherine clutched the receipt in her fingers. She closed the empty space between her and Chibs, wasting no time in wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. There was no grudge on Catherine's part as she understood his reluctance to have her there. It had taken quite a bit of time for the Keith McGee to warm up to the idea of having a Provo in his clubhouse and SAMCRO was no expectation. Chibs was still taking a monumental risk by sending her to his house and for that, she would forever be grateful.

Holding Catherine tight against his body, Chibs rested his cheek on the top of her head. The warmth she radiated, and the scent of her shampoo seared into his memory. He never wanted to forget what it felt like to have her in his arms and he prayed it wouldn't be the last time. To Chibs, Catherine would always be a little girl, not the product of war she turned out to be. Just as he would for Kerrianne, he'd crawl through Hell on his hands and knees to keep her safe.

"If ya ever get in'ta trouble, see McGee, or Maureen Ashby. They'll get word ta me an' I promise I'll make sure ya get here safe. But, Catherine, ya gotta promise me that no matter how afraid ya are, ye'll be brave an' keep fightin'.

Now it was her turn to choke back the tears. The painful knot in the base of her throat tightened even more. Her voice was thick and her words dripped with grief he had never heard from her before.

"I promise." After a few minutes, they finally pulled apart and Catherine a few rogue tears away with the pad of her thumb. "Ye've no idea how much I appreciate ya doin' this fer me. Ya have me word none of this'll blow back on the club."

Cupping her jaw in his hands, Chibs tilted Catherine's head and planted a comforting kiss on her forehead. "Ya should get goin' before Jimmy deploys the troops. Park the SUV in the garage so it's outta sight."

* * *

Sitting on the sofa in Chibs' living room, Catherine absently flipped through the pages of an old issue of _Easyriders _magazine. She rolled her eyes at the photos of half-naked women straddling motorcycles and decided at that very moment, to take up the kickboxing classes Jimmy had suggested for her stay in shape.

Glancing up at the clock perched on the mantelpiece, she tossed her long, straightened hair over her shoulders. It was nearing midnight and Catherine began to wonder if Chibs' friend planned on stopping by.

Having enough of the magazine, Catherine closed it, tossing it back on the coffee table as she let out a frustrated sigh. She thought about reaching for the television remote to find a show that would break the growing awkward silence, but the slightly intimidating presence of the man sitting beside her stopped her from doing much of anything. Annoyance from having been asked to leave the SOA party oozed from him and Catherine felt bad he had been pulled from his lap dance to be her babysitter.

Two days ago, his rough edges and peculiarity had dampened her panties but now that he was sitting silently beside her, Catherine wondered if he was too much bad-boy for her to handle.

"I'm really sorry about Chibs,"

Happy spoke, not allowing her to finish the sentence. "A brother asked a favor. I wasn't gonna say no."

When Chibs had told Happy to accompany her to the house, Catherine quickly declined, assuring Chibs she could watch over herself. No amount of puppy-dog eye batting would change his mind and both Catherine and Happy accepted the arrangement with defeat. Jax had been quick to volunteer to look over his Irish crush, but Chibs didn't have enough faith that Jax wouldn't make a move to bed his niece.

While Chibs knew there was nothing any of them could do if the True Army managed to track Catherine down, he had wanted another body there to make sure the lads didn't get rough with her. Another brother was his best option, as it would only bring more trouble for Catherine if she was spotted with Chibs.

The heavy knock on the front door startled Catherine. When she jumped up to get it, Happy blocked her path and told her to sit back down. A hand strategically placed on the pistol he wore under his kutte, Happy opened the door just enough to peek through. When he came face-to-face with a tired and frazzled woman, he let her in after confirming she was the nurse from St. Thomas.

Hearing the commotion at the door, Catherine stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her pants. She was relieved to see the nurse had finally arrived, as sutures had quickly become something Catherine despised. She was ready to just get it over with.

"You must be Catherine," the petite blonde set her medical bag on the table before tearing into it in search of a pair of latex gloves. "I'm Ivy."

Snapping on the gloves, Ivy apologized over and over for running late, explaining they were short staffed in the emergency room and had a patient in cardiac arrest come in five minutes before she was supposed to get off shift. Suddenly, Catherine felt like the biggest asshole for having been annoyed with her being an hour late. Assuring Ivy there was nothing to apologize for, she found herself wondering how a soft-spoken woman such as her became tangled up with the local motorcycle enthusiasts.

Happy took a seat on the arm of the sofa and silently watched as Catherine lifted her blouse to show Ivy her wound. While she picked away at the homemade bandage Chibs had made, Happy couldn't stop himself from realizing how the cobalt blue top made the gorgeous hue of her hair pop. Even as she winced from Ivy poking around the tender skin, her rich eyes ever showed a single sign of distress.

"Do you want the good news, or the bad news first?" Ivy took off the bloodstained gloves before pulling out her suturing tools and a bottle of iodine.

"Bad."

Now he could see the nervousness start to set in.

"It definitely needs stitches, and I wasn't able to swipe any lidocaine so you'll have to do this with no numbing agent. Good news, it should only take about four stitches to close it, so it should go quick."

Catherine took a deep breath as she contemplated her options. She was already uncomfortable enough with the gaping wound sitting just below the strap of her bra. When she told Ivy the lack of lidocaine wouldn't be an issue, Happy strode into the kitchen and swiped the first bottle he saw off Chibs' counter.

He hadn't been expecting to find Catherine in her bra and pants when he arrived back in the living room. Untwisting the bottle, Happy told himself to keep his eyes on the ground and off her ample breasts.

"Thanks," Catherine smiled weakly as she accepted the bottle of Jack Daniel's.

Ivy dropped four capsules of an antibiotic into Catherine's palm. Happy watched in complete admiration as she tossed the pills into her mouth and washed them down with a sizeable swig. She didn't bat an eye as she pulled the bottle from her lips just long enough for a breath before taking another pull. The way Catherine drank, and how she positioned herself on the sofa without Ivy having to instruct her, told Happy this was far from her first rodeo.

Kneeling on the floor, Ivy swabbed the area around the cut with a cotton ball soaked in iodine before grabbing her tools.

"You ready?" Ivy asked.

"Aye,"

Catherine closed her eyes and held her breath in preparation for the first puncture of the needle. When the cool steel slid right through her skin, she steadily let out the breath but kept her eyes closed. Happy knew she kept them shut because if she opened them, he and Ivy would witness tears strolling down her face. She was the kind of woman who would never let strangers know how she was feeling and he respected the hell out of that.

Halfway done, Catherine finally opened her eyes. Her teeth clamped down on her lower lip in order to stop the scream that was welling in the pit of her stomach. All she could think about while watching Ivy maneuver the suture into an intricate knot, was all the ways she planned to make Jimmy's life hell for making her go through this. She absolutely hated him at the moment and found herself hoping he had made good on his threat to send her back to Belfast.

Seeing Chibs had made Catherine reanalyze some of her life choices. Maybe the answer wasn't as simple as transferring to the same battalion as Patrick and Liam. There was a small voice in the back of her head telling her it may be time to leave the IRA all together and focus her time on going back to school. She had put herself in a position where her bedroom window had been shot out a week ago, and now she couldn't even spend time with her uncle. A life of constantly looking over her shoulder, wondering who was going to attempt to kill her next, and restricting her relationships with Brien and Padaric wasn't a life she wanted. Most importantly, Catherine was sick of waiting around for Jimmy to pull the trigger and move-in with her like he promised he'd do nearly three years ago.

Looking down at Catherine, Happy could tell her mind was wandering but had no idea where to. He didn't care enough to ask if she was okay, but Happy even surprised himself when he extended his hand and placed it on top of hers. Curling his fingers around hers, Happy gave a tight squeeze, reassuring Catherine it was almost over.


	12. Three Words, Eight Letters

With a wicked hangover, Catherine made it back to Lodi just before daybreak. At the sound of the front door clicking shut, Jimmy muted the television and crushed his half-smoked cigarette. A sense of relief washed over him when she walked into the living room, seemingly uninjured. Never in his life had Jimmy been wrecked with such anxiety, wondering where in the hell she had gone and what she had been doing for the entirety of the night.

He too was still dressed in the previous day's clothes, with his black suit pants wrinkled, and the sleeves of his cream button-up untidily cuffed to his elbows. Like Catherine, he reeked of cheap whiskey and stale deodorant.

"Ye gonna tell me where ya were?"

She wanted to throw a jab at Jimmy, say something along the lines of how he sounded exactly like her father when he would drop her off at home well past midnight. Back in the days well before she had graduated from school and well before anyone knew they were screwing. Catherine bit her tongue, deciding to take the high road, as it would only end badly for her if she continued to instigate his temper.

The truth sat bitterly on her tongue as she contemplated whether or not to tell it to him. So far, it seemed as though his threat to send her back to Belfast was nothing more than a hollow bluff, but when it came to having her neck painfully squeezed with razor wire, Catherine wasn't willing to tempt fate. Dropping her purse onto the armchair beside the sofa, she lifted her blouse and peeled back the dressing that protected her fresh sutures. At the sight of them, Jimmy ran a hand along the stubble on his jaw, having no idea he wounded her as badly as he had. Had he known, he would have had someone come to the house and take care of it under the table.

"Had some cash on me, so I got a room in Modesto after gettin' stitched up."

She wasn't interested in having any sort of conversation with him. As she spoke, she walked into the kitchen to fetch a glass of water for the pain relievers she desperately needed. With her head feeling like it was in a vice and her side sore and tender, she was looking forward to a narcotics-induced sleep. On the other hand, Jimmy wasn't quite ready to send Catherine to bed without any sort of inquisition.

"Ya didn't fill out the paperwork wit' yer real name, did ya?"

He followed her into the kitchen.

At least he was under the impression she had gone to a hospital. That would save her a lot of explaining.

Catherine swallowed a large sip of water, the coolness feeling like heaven to her depleted insides. Although his question had more than insulted her, she didn't allow him the satisfaction of a reaction on her end. If he thought she was that incapable, Catherine was going to have a little fun of her own.

In an effort to look as confused as possible, Catherine expertly furrowed her brow. That only made Jimmy nervous to hear her answer.

"Why wouldn't I? I've nothin' 'ta hide."

The pause that came from Jimmy insulted Catherine even further. Did his lack of faith in her really run that deep?

"Jesus, Mary, an' Joseph," she set her glass down on the counter and ran her hands through her dirty hair. "Of course I didn't use me real fuckin' name. Ya really do think I am a half-wit, don't ya?"

Jimmy defended himself. "Yer not an eejit, but believe it or not, I do worry about ya."

"If yer so worried about me, ya never would've done this 'ta me in the first place."

He wasn't sure if Catherine was referring to her stitches or the True Army. He stopped himself from reminding her that she had, in fact, asked for all of it when she was sixteen. Instead, Jimmy decided to take the high road like she was trying to. Even he was done the fighting.

Opening his arms to her, Jimmy waved her in for a hug. She cursed herself for having given in so easily, but the offer to be wrapped in his cozy embrace put Catherine's mind at ease. If he knew where she had been and with whom last night, he wouldn't have offered such a welcoming gesture. Wrapping her arms around his sides, she could feel him close in on her as his cheek rested on the top of her head.

Rubbing her back tenderly, Jimmy could feel her fingers tightly gripping his shirt. While his remorse was only fleeting, he truly did mean it when he mumbled an apology. The apology was only for the blade incident, not when he nearly choked her out. That right there should have been enough for Catherine to pack her own bags to head home, but she made countless excuses for him in her head. She forgave him, without a second thought as to whether or not it would ever happen again.

"Ye hungry?" Catherine asked.

Jimmy nodded and unwrapped her from his arms. "Aye, I could eat."

"Go take a shower while I make breakfast." She tied her hair up into a messy top-knot bun before heading towards the fridge to get the carton of eggs.

Considering how amazing a hot shower sounded, Jimmy didn't object to Catherine all but pushing him out of the kitchen. He wandered down the hall to their bedroom, while she whisked eggs and popped the bread into the toaster. If her brothers or dad had been there to witness her dutifully making Jimmy breakfast after how he had treated her, Catherine knew they would kick her ass, after kicking his. Hell, she wanted to kick her own ass, but she wasn't going to let her disgruntled feelings toward him get in the way.

For the first time ever, Catherine truly understood why her mom always forgave her dad and still made him his morning meal and coffee even after a brutal, drunken night. In spite of the cruelty, she couldn't forget her deep-rooted affection for Jimmy. The passion in her own relationship mirrored that of Patrick and Olivia.

Except, Jimmy didn't have a problem with the bottle, he could just be insufferable. She had no idea which was worse.

Just as she finished plating scrambled eggs and three slices of toast for Jimmy, he sat down at the table. Reaching around him, she set down the plate and a mug of coffee then kissed the top of his head. She loved how he smelt clean and of spicy cologne. While Jimmy wasted no time in digging in, she grabbed her own plate and took a seat adjacent to him.

Catherine pushed her plate to the side, suddenly not having much of an appetite. Noticing this highly unusual behavior, Jimmy set his fork down and swallowed hard. Her notorious stress-eating habit was nowhere to be found, only telling him that whatever was on her mind was internally shredding her to pieces. What Jimmy hated the most was that no matter how many times he asked, or even demanded, for her to tell him what she was thinking about, the chances of her telling him the truth was slim to none.

This time, Jimmy didn't want to spend the next week playing guessing games. Catherine willfully spoke without being asked.

"I wanna be put in the second battalion wit' me Da an' Liam. Maybe run surveillance, get outta the gun-runnin'. "

Jimmy stiffened, repeating her words to himself to make sure what he thought he heard was correct. He was having a hard time comprehending the bomb she had dropped on him out of nowhere. For nearly five years now, they had been a skillful team. He couldn't show that her desire to no longer be at his side shattered his heart. She had been his shadow for two decades now and Jimmy couldn't imagine not seeing her blue eyes, or radiant smile at least once every day.

The reality of losing her slapped him hard across the face and it was all because he was cowardly. It wasn't that he was afraid of telling her how he felt, Jimmy was afraid of what would follow his admission.

Reputation was everything to a man like Jimmy O'Phelan, and the moment those three words Catherine was desperate to hear were spoken, he would never be able to go back to Fiona. He was terrified Fiona would make good on her promise to sink his name, telling everyone in the six counties Jimmy had begun his sexual relationship with Catherine well before she was of legal age.

Catherine sat still, watching Jimmy as he ran his hands over his face, and then through his hair. Her throat ached painfully hearing the desperation in his voice.

"Please, don't do this, a chuisle."

There was no stopping her bottom lip from trembling as Catherine felt the stress of tears threatening to fall. With no warning, the dam broke and before Jimmy could react, Catherine broke down. Hot, thick tears skated down her cheeks as she used her right hand to cover her eyes. The sight was all too familiar to the afternoon he took her for the first time. Catherine was sure Jimmy thought her decision to leave his command was solely based on the fight they had the previous night.

Not wanting to seem like a spoilt brat who wasn't getting her way, Catherine felt the need to clarify. "I need a break, a change of scenery. After gettin' me bedroom window shot out, I…I need 'ta get back 'ta the Falls fer a wee bit."

He knew she was spewing bullshit. She was far more resilient and there was no way that close call would be enough to send her packing for a less hazardous posting. Jimmy snorted and fell back into his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His voice raised several octaves.

"Yer full'a shite. Yer upset I won't tell ya what ya wanna hear so yer gonna run off—"

Catherine cut him off. Shooting up from her chair, she placed her hands flat on the table so she could lean in closer to him. The tears began to stream faster, her words were choppy, thick with agony. The eyes he loved so much were swollen and bloodshot. "This is the problem, Jimmy, ya don't listen 'ta me. Ever. Even when I was little, whenever I try 'ta tell 'ya how I feel, ye ignore it. Ye just tell me how I'm feelin' or assume wit'out even askin'. I'm nothin' more than a Provo 'ta ye… jus' one of the lads."

Ashamed, Jimmy dropped his head. Out of everyone in her life, he knew he pushed her the hardest, but that was only because he wanted to see her succeed. She was too bright to settle for a dull life. So, he realized to some extent, she was right. He never did listen to her because he didn't see how coddling her would do any good. From a young age, she had been far stronger emotionally than her brothers, that Jimmy genuinely forgot she was human and sometimes needed a shoulder to cry on. Or, someone to tell her everything would be okay.

Watching her breakdown for only the second time, Jimmy realized she wasn't upset with him over his refusal to put a label on their relationship. She was upset because she felt like he wasn't there for her the way she needed him to be. It wasn't a boyfriend that Catherine was seeking; she wanted a man. A man who understood she had needs far greater than only physical ones. She had reached the point in her life where she was ready for a man to be there consistently. Stability was what she craved most, as well as a man to take an interest in her mental and emotional well-being.

He had no idea the attempt on their lives had her thinking about moving back to West Belfast because he never once asked how she was holding up. He just assumed it was something she had moved past as he did. The only reason Catherine had gone back to Short Strand without a fight was that she knew being back there would make him happy. She had sacrificed so much of her life, and who she was, to have only slivers of him. If it hadn't been for his pushing and manipulating, Catherine never would have chosen this life for herself. The least he could do was give her the one thing she wanted most in life—him. It wouldn't be much of a sacrifice for him, considering he wanted his entire world to revolve around her.

Suddenly, Jimmy didn't care about Fiona's weak warning to keep him around.

Catherine hated the fact she had fallen so hard for another woman's man. She felt as though she had missed out on the chance to be with the love of her because he was seventeen years older than her. Thinking back to the very first night she had kissed him, she hadn't done it because he was the most handsome man in the world to her. She did it because before that, he had always been warmhearted to her. Because he was beyond smart, and funny. Because even in her drunken haze, Catherine realized he was the right smart and funny for her, where she could spend long hours with him and never once have a moment of boredom. Every time Catherine saw something amusing or riveting, her first thought was always what Jimmy would have to say about it, too.

Together, they were true and utter destruction, and somehow that made them absolutely perfect for each other. When the fire was extinguished, and the dust finally settled, they found a sense of peace within one another, that was unattainable from any other partner. Lorcan never stimulated Catherine's mind and body like Jimmy did, and Fiona could never do the same for him.

The expression of apathy on Jimmy's face defeated Catherine. Her heart shattered into a million jagged pieces. She had been trying for years to break through his final layer of armor and bring a new level of intimacy to his frozen soul. At this point, she was convinced it was impenetrable and she was done trying. Not only was she done with Jimmy, and the IRA, Catherine was done with Belfast.

Straightening up, Catherine wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hands. It wasn't worth crying over something, better yet someone, that would never change.

"I love ye, so much, Jimmy. Ye know I always have, an' I always will. But, whatever it is we have goin' on between us, isn't workin' fer me anymore, an' we agreed once it stopped bein' fun fer one of us, we'd end it. So, I don't think we should see—"

Once Jimmy realized what she was about to say, he stood up with such force the chair tipped to the floor. Seeing him quickly advance towards her, Catherine's hands began to shake as she took several steps backward. With memories of the previous night still fresh, his aggressive demeanor struck the match of intimidation in her. Realizing she was only backing herself further into the kitchen, her entire body began to tremble when he finally grabbed her blotched face in his large hands.

"I fuckin' love ye, okay? Tá mé i ngrá leat."

_I'm in love with you_. It was everything she had ever wanted to hear.

Not wasting a second more, Jimmy crashed his lips hard onto Catherine's. His tongue pushed its way past her lips, into the inviting warmth of her mouth where she instantly tangled hers with his.

In between fickle kisses, Jimmy murmured into her mouth, "ya were never supposed ta mean this much ta me. I didn't think I'd fall so hard fer ye. But here we are, an' it hurts too fuckin' much ta let ya go."


	13. Sweet Escape

Catherine woke up to the faint touch of Jimmy's hand on her hip. The bright rays of the late-afternoon sun peeked through the slats of the closed blinds, bathing the room. She stirred at the feeling of his soft lips on her shoulder, gently exploring the territory he knew all too well. Against her bare back, Catherine could feel the heat radiating from Jimmy's naked body. The hair on his chest slightly tickled her sensitive skin as he moved. For several moments she remained still, simply basking in the memories of their earlier passion. When she rolled over to face him, Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands were on her back and ass.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

Not needing to be told twice, Jimmy dipped his head to capture her lower lip between his. This kiss was different from the thousands they had shared in the past. It was an odd mix of hungry, and sweet-tempered. It was definitely possessive and for reasons Catherine couldn't understand, that provoked an undeniable twinge between her legs.

Jimmy had spent most of the morning and afternoon being an unselfish lover. Using his mouth and fingers to inflict orgasm after orgasm upon her worn out body. By the time her fourth one hit, she had been screaming, crying, and even laughing, as her legs quaked like never before.

Playfully biting his lower lip, Catherine felt the evidence of his arousal against her. She knew it would only be fair to repay him for earlier displays of affection. Just as long as he told her what she wasn't growing tired of hearing. She broke the kiss.

"Say it again," Catherine demand.

Jimmy wasn't a fan of her tone and hated being told what to do. He raised his eyebrows; his hooded eyes still showing signs of fatigue. "Excuse ye?"

The roughness of his 'just-woke-up' voice nearly melted her into a puddle. She also had a love-hate relationship with his excessive need to always be stern with her. In the proper context, it had the capability to sent her off like a mortar.

"Say it again, please?" She rephrased.

Her un-mascaraed blonde lashes batted at him and his heart fluttered. Jimmy could never let Catherine know she was his one and only kryptonite. She had the ability to weaken him with nothing more than a smile, and Jimmy had never experienced that with any other woman.

He kissed her forehead. "I"

And then her nose. "Love."

Finally, her lips, where he lingered, taking his sweet time. "Ye. Wit' all me heart, a chuisle. Do ya love me?"

Catherine closed her eyes for a second, wanting to make sure she had heard him correctly. Asking a question such as that wasn't exactly his style. When she opened them again to stare up into his light blue eyes, Catherine couldn't believe what she saw. Desperation to hear her answer. Longing, a thirst for doting tenderness and intimacy. It wasn't the rough and reserved man she was used to seeing. He was the farthest thing from perfect, as was their story of love. No one understood what they—especially Catherine—saw in one another but none of that mattered. What mattered most to Catherine was what without fail, every time she did look into Jimmy's eyes, she saw a man was willing to stand up and fight for her, to protect her, love her. Even when she could do neither of those for herself, and she was an utter wreck. Most importantly, what she saw in his eyes was home. Wherever Jimmy was, Catherine was safe and warm.

A smile spreading across her face, Catherine took him by surprise when she rolled him onto his back. Crawling over him, she pressed her hands into the mattress on either side of him, her lips kissing his neck, the length of his collarbones, his chest. When she reached the slight ridges of his abdominal muscles, Catherine stopped and looked up at him, a new found softness gleaming from her eyes.

"I love ya, James."

James. Hearing Catherine say his name religiously kept him grounded to not only her but reality as well. She was the only one who adoringly called him that, and nonetheless, the only person he allowed to call him by his full name.

Tossing the thin sheet from the lower half of his body, Catherine settled on her knees between his legs. She supported herself with one hand on the mattress as she took him in the other, working delicate magic with her tongue.

His fingers curled through her hair, tugging deliciously. Catherine was never shy about her fondness for going down on him. She loved wrapping her lips around him and earning that sudden intake of breath as she pushed him deeper into her mouth.

The feeling of Jimmy's cock filling her throat, the taste of those first salty drops, and his musky scent of unadulterated testosterone. Hearing the deep groans rise from the pit of his stomach and hitch in his throat, always aroused Catherine. She loved the reward of her tantalizing efforts; the hot, milky flow that covered her tongue. Without batting an eye, she rose to her knees, swallowing the proof of the immense pleasure she had brought to his body. Wiping saliva from her mouth and chin with the back of her hand, Catherine started to count the minutes until he'd be ready to go again.

The piercing buzz of the alarm clock on Jimmy's nightstand startled the couple awake at a quarter to eleven p.m. They had only managed to accumulate about six hours of sleep in the last twenty-four, and a nearly four-hour drive to the mountains on the border of California and Nevada was the last thing Catherine wanted to partake in. If it weren't for the fact this was going to be her first exchange with a member of the U.S. military, she would have rolled over and told Jimmy to pick up McKeavey and bring him instead.

"Why do we have ta meet this bloke so bloody early an' so far away?" Catherine had her face smashed into her pillow and somehow Jimmy managed to hear her.

This was far from ideal for him as well, but he understood the apprehension of his Marine contact. Making a bulk of M16's fall off the back of a truck was incredibly risky business, and as a show of gratitude, Jimmy was willing to work with the Lance Corporal's demands.

Sitting up, Jimmy planted his feet on the floor and turned on the lamp. The soft light stung his sleep-deprived eyes as he yawned and stretched. Scratching his chest, he took the opportunity to slap her bare ass with enough force to sting his own hand. He chuckled as she yelped and shot up, rubbing the sore spot.

"This is a lesson ye'll always need ta remember," he said.

Catherine raised her eyebrows. "What lesson would that be? Pop straight up at the sound of the alarm or ye'll crack me arse?"

Twisting around, Jimmy grabbed a hold of Catherine's hips and tossed back on to the bed. He firmly gripped her wrists, pinning them above her head. Having her in that position, Jimmy fought every urge not raise her legs, roll her hips, and enter the velvet heat his cock was in search of. There wasn't time for a quickie; there wasn't even enough time for him to jerk off in the shower.

"The lesson here is that headlights are easily spotted during the night than at dawn. This is 'ta start gettin' ya ready 'ta make drops in Kerry. No SAMBEL protection; jus' ye an' another lad, an' a car full of highly illegal weapons and explosives."

She loved the serious expression that always overtook him when he lectured her on True Army tactics. Most of his words had gone unheard by Catherine, as all she could focus on was his stiff erection brushing along her inner thighs. Wrapping one leg around his waist, Catherine snaked the other around one of his. Jimmy bit his lip at the feeling of her silky skin against his.

The mere mention of county Kerry and SAMBEL's absence from those particular runs told Catherine all she needed to know, but she wanted to hear Jimmy say it. It also made sense as to why Jimmy's focus had turned to stockpile, rather than simply flipping weapons for profit.

"Are ye tellin' me, Quartermaster O'Phelan, that the True Army has no intention of stickin' ta the ceasefire?"

Catherine had joined the ranks only weeks before the True Army Council had agreed to enter into a ceasefire along with the Provisionals. The Real Army was still very much active and after the Ulster Volunteer Force began causing more trouble than usual, Jimmy was itching to get back to work. Little did Catherine know, it had been Patrick who convinced the Council to rescind armistice, ready to spend the rest of his days locked away in a cell—or dead—as long as he was sure the men who tried to put a bullet in his baby girl were taken care of.

The playful tone of her voice and the childlike grin on her face, made Jimmy realize Catherine wasn't ready for what her future held. Her time had thus far consisted only of trafficking. Once they broke open the gates of Hell, Catherine would learn quickly what it meant to a lowly street solider.

"Yer gonna learn what it's like ta play wit the big boys, Caitie," Jimmy whispered into her ear. He watched as her eyes and head rolled back while he pushed the head of his cock shallowly into her. "The stories Brien and Padaric have told ya about the exploits of SAMBEL will look like child's play by the year's end."

The names of her brother and cousin rolling off Jimmy's tongue wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear as she felt her cunt obediently stretch for him. In an attempt to urge him deeper, Catherine raised her hips to meet his, but she was met with resistance.

A devilish smile on his face, Jimmy withdrew and hopped off the bed, grabbing his sweatpants from the floor. "Ye shower first, I'll get coffee goin'."

Balling her hands into tight fists, Catherine rolled over and let out a frustrated screech into the mattress. Jimmy laughed, knowing full well she was damning his soul for all eternity.

* * *

Hitting the road a few minutes after one in the morning, Catherine had fallen back to sleep before Jimmy even got on the highway. She slept for a majority of the four hours, but he did wake her up once they were in the mountains. Holding his free hand in hers, she marveled at the beauty the Western part of the United States had to offer. The pink sky overhead made the topography around her look almost fake.

"It's brilliant, so it is," she said.

He shrugged, "it's got nothin' on the Emerald Isle."

"Aye," Catherine agreed. Resting her head on the window, she was feeling more homesick than ever. Eleven more days, she reminded herself. Then it would be back to the daily grind of waitressing at the pub by day and running errands for Jimmy at night.

Pulling off the highway and on to a dirt road, they drove for a good two miles before coming to a dead end. Sure enough, leaning against the hood of his car was a man dressed in tan khaki camouflage pants, and a plain t-shirt. If his uniform didn't give him away, the high-and-tight haircut did.

Turning off the SUV, Jimmy reached into the center console and grabbed his old combat knife, slipping it into the waistband of his trousers so it rested on his hip. In a holster hidden by his suit jacket, he was carrying two pistols. He knew it was a silly question to ask her, but he wanted to be absolutely sure. "Ye carryin'?"

Catherine nodded. She was dressed in her usual Levi's, Dr. Marten boots, and a zip-up sweatshirt. For drops, she always opted to be comfortable, plus it was difficult to conceal a pistol, and tactical knife while wearing three-inch pumps and a skirt suit.

Jimmy grabbed her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. "Wait here. If it seems legit, I'll come to get ya so we can fire those bad boys."

The only thing she could do was nod and wait. Her life once again revolving around what Jimmy O told her to do.

* * *

Pulling into a gas station just off the highway, Jimmy killed the engine. With half-a-million dollars' worth of automatic rifles and C-4 explosives in the back of the SUV, their pit-stop would have to be quick. Even though there was still plenty of hours left in the day, the top priority was getting their purchase onto a cargo ship in Oakland, headed for Dungloe.

Catherine pushed her sunglasses into her hair, more than eager to get out and stretch her legs. She snatched the twenty-dollar-bill from Jimmy and jutted into the store for a pack of smokes and two RedBulls.

Having stupidly tossed the money Jimmy gave her into her purse, she dug through the black hole when she was at the register. As the cashier made change, Catherine rustled through the stack of old receipts, wondering why in the hell she even kept them.

When the cashier cleared her throat to bring Catherine back to reality, she quickly stuffed them into her pocket. Tossing the change and smokes into her bag, Catherine grabbed the cans and headed back outside. Seeing Jimmy was still in the midst of pumping gas, Catherine slung the straps of her bag over her shoulder before pulling out the wad of receipts from her pocket. She was just about to throw them away when she noticed the one on top was different from the rest; black ink bled through the thin paper.

Tucking the RedBulls under her armpit, Catherine flipped it over and did her best to straighten out the crumpled ball. Her heart began to race when it registered this handwriting belonged to no one she knew back in Northern Ireland, or even Chibs, for that matter. She ran a sweaty thumb over the words etched in Sharpie.

_8 p.m. - Friday. Tell your old man Jax texted you about business & meet me at the Alibi in Lodi. _

Glancing over her shoulder to see Jimmy was finishing at the pump, Catherine balled up the receipts and tossed them into the trash. How the hell did he know she'd find that in time?

Slipping her sunglasses back over her eyes, Catherine mumbled. "Damn ye, Happy Lowman."

Exhausted beyond all belief, Catherine thought about ghosting Happy, pretend she had never gotten his note in the first place. Sitting on the couch back at the safe house, her legs were tucked under her as she absently watched the news. Beside her, Jimmy was slouched, his feet propped up on the coffee table and the remote resting on his chest. She couldn't quite tell if he was fully asleep, but his eyes were closed behind his glasses and his breathing was even.

For as tired as she was, there was no doubting her boredom. Falling asleep to the evening news on a Friday wasn't her idea of an exciting night. So, she contemplated her options. On one hand, she could flip through television stations for the remainder of the night, wondering what fun her brothers were up to until she fell asleep completely unsatisfied. She chose to go with the other option available to her; sneak out for a few drinks, and a game or two of pool.

Besides, Catherine tried to justify to herself, Jimmy had only barred her from seeing Chibs, not other SOA members.

Catherine's phone vibrated on the side table and without hesitation, she flipped it open.

_Coming out tonight? _The text read. As if he could sense her dilemma, Happy's text was exactly the kick in the ass she needed.

Typing out a quick response, Catherine snapped her phone shut and rose from the couch. When the noise, nor her rusting around seemed to stir Jimmy, she knew he was dead asleep. In the kitchen, she found a pen and scribbled down a note for him. Saying exactly what Happy told her to, Catherine used Jax as her excuse for leaving and didn't offer a time frame for her return.

Slipping on her boots, gathering her purse and the keys to the SUV, she made her escape.

"This is probably me worst idea yet," Catherine said aloud as she locked the front door behind her. "He's gonna fuckin' kill me."


	14. Get Mine, Get Yours

"Twenty-bucks says he gets her digits."

Catherine shook her head at the ridiculousness of Happy's bet. By the looks of it, Jax was less than a minute away from either being slapped or having a vodka cranberry thrown in his face.

"Nuh uh." She brought her pint of Harp to her mouth, finishing the last sip. "Forty says he ends up wearin' her vodka."

Happy thought about her offer for a second, and then held out his hand for a shake. He lifted his chin to the brother sitting at the bar beside Catherine.

"You want in on this, Chibs?"

The Scotsman set his beer down, turning around to watch Jax utterly crash and burn in his sad attempt to pick up a lonely blonde for the night. It was painfully obvious where it was headed and Chibs couldn't believe Happy thought it would end in Jax's favor.

"I'm wit' Caitie on this one."

Sure enough, the last words that exited Jax's mouth were deplorable enough for the blonde to pick up her drink and toss the contents into biker's face. Chibs and Catherine couldn't help but laugh, while Happy displeasingly dug into his wallet for four crisp twenty-dollar bills. Catherine snatched them up right away and handed Chibs his share of the cash. Only, he waved it off and told her to keep it. Remembering his time as a lowly soldier in the ranks of the IRA, Chibs knew Catherine was making pennies off the deals she was making, while Jimmy was stashing away his thousands. There was no way she could afford the lot of designer clothing and shoes she was buying on her own accord. Jimmy was undeniably bankrolling her semi-lavish lifestyle and he wanted to do what he could to get her out from under Jimmy's thumb.

Catherine hadn't been expecting Jax to be at the Alibi with Happy, much less Chibs, and that alone almost made her walk right out the door and head back to the house. Before sitting at the bar with the trio, she had done a quick scan, trying to spot an obvious Provo, but when she didn't, only then did she sit beside her uncle.

"How's the house vodka?" She cheekily asked Jax when he approached the bar. "I'm thinkin' of switchin' over ta somethin' a little heavier, but I wanna make sure it's good first."

"Fuck you." Jax humorously spat.

Chibs smacked a hand on Jax's shoulder. "That's no way ta speak ta a lady, Jackie-boy. No wonder the lass turned ya down."

The comment earned a chuckle from Happy and that took Catherine by slight surprise. Up until that point, she wasn't sure if a man like Happy knew what a laugh was. Happy's demeanor intimidated her more than Galen O'Shay, and he was affectionally known as the Belfast Butcher.

Reaching for a stack of cocktail napkins, Jax wiped the vodka and cranberry juice off his face. He made a jesting remark about Catherine being far from a lady. Catherine took it in stride and bought Jax a beer and shot of Jameson so he could nurse his bruised ego.

"Don't sweat it, Don Juan. She looks like the type ta be a sad shag anyway." Catherine said.

Jax slung his arm over Catherine's shoulders. His words were slurred from one too many Jameson's and forgot Chibs was sitting within earshot when he spoke. "You don't look the type to be a sad shag."

Catherine nearly choked on her mouthful of beer and her cheeks burned brighter than a string of Christmas lights. She wasn't used to being hit on and she wouldn't deny his flattery would get him anything he wanted.

"It's always the quiet ones." Jax dug himself into a deeper hole. "And I happen to know what they say about redheads is true…"

"And this where I think we call it a night!" Chibs took the pint of Harp from Jax's hand and set it on the bar.

Watching Jax drunkenly try to score with his niece wasn't all too amusing for Chibs to watch. Before he was forced to kick his vice president's ass, Chibs decided the best thing was to get his ass to bed.

Realizing this was most likely the last time she would see Chibs for awhile, Catherine jumped up from the barstool and engulfed him in a tight hug. She knew for a fact, Jimmy would be up awaiting her arrival, and when he caught a whiff of her smelling like beer, whiskey, and cigarette smoke, he would become privy that it was the farthest thing from a business meeting. It would be quite some time before he trusted her again.

"When are ya headed back ta Belfast?" Chibs asked.

That was a question Catherine had no idea how to answer. In less than twelve hours, she guessed, but she didn't say that to Chibs. "Once I hear back on the vote fer that…Russian arrangement, I'll be headin' back ta get it all squared away."

"Should know the day after tomorrow. Waitin' on a brother ta get back from up north then we'll vote. Jax or Clay'll give ya a ring when it's done but, I think it'll sway in yer direction."

Catherine was pleased to hear that. The more business they could do with SAMCRO, the better.

She kissed the scar on his left cheek and dreaded the final goodbye. "I'll see ya soon, yeah? An' I'll be sure ta give Kerri and Fi yer love."

Reaching into the back pocket of her jeans, Catherine pulled out a crumbled and folded envelope. Although she hadn't been expecting to see Chibs, she had been carrying the letter with her at all times since the night she ended up at the clubhouse. He had stuck his neck out for her, the least she could do was make sure the handwritten note made it into his hands.

"Fiona wanted me ta give this ta ye." Placing the small envelope into his hand, Catherine closed his fingers around it. She pressed another small peck into his right cheek. "An' that's from me Ma."

The gesture touched Chibs. It was a blessing for him to see that under the hard exterior she built to protect herself, her heart was still as soft as ever. Just as he had done for her, Catherine was sticking her neck out for Fiona, which was a bitter feat for her. The relationship between Catherine and Fiona was beyond repair but to Chibs, it showed maturity beyond her years that Catherine didn't go straight to Jimmy and tell him what Fiona was up to. If Fiona trusted her enough with this task, maybe all hope wasn't lost for her. Handing that off to him was an enormous risk on both Catherine and Fiona's part. Had Jimmy found out, God only knew what he would have done to both.

Reaching up, Chibs cupped her jaw and brushed his thumb along her cheek, just as he had done countless times when she was a child. "Take care'a yer'self, and keep an eye on my Kerrianne. Please, don't let her get dragged into this life."

"Aye. Ya have me word, I promise."

After getting a taste of this life herself, Catherine vowed she would fight tooth and nail to keep her future children out of it. Much less sit back and watch a sweet, innocent soul as Kerrianne become corrupted in the dwindling fight for Northern Irish independence. Catherine's eyes were open enough to know the True Army was becoming a shell of itself, quickly losing sight of the cause it once fought for.

"Awww!" Jax crooned, throwing his arms around the uncle and niece. "If this isn't a Kodak moment, I don't fuckin' know what is."

Catherine patted the top of Jax's head, sighing. "So cute, I remember my first shot of Jameson."

"Let's get ya home, Jackie-boy." Chibs cut in before Jax could open his mouth and anything else stupid. He then turned to Happy, throwing his thumb back at Catherine. "Make sure she stays outta trouble?"

A man of few words, Happy simply lifted his pint to Chibs. A thick cloud of gloominess fell upon Catherine as she watched Chibs escort an intoxicated Jax out of the bar, wishing like hell she could have had more time with him. Sitting on the stool beside Happy, Catherine grabbed the lowball glass her uncle had been sipping whiskey from. She tossed it back, enjoying the all too familiar burn in the back of her throat.

Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine could see Happy staring at her intently. The only thoughts she could formulate were of him, and when she turned her head she came face-to-face with his stoic expression. Sometimes in life, all a person needed were a couple of drinks and mind-numbing sex, and it quickly became clear that's what this night was about. Sure, Catherine was physically attracted to Happy. Just like she was attracted to the SOA secretary back in Dungloe. The leather-clad men who rode their Harley's with pride were off limits, as business and pleasure were not to be mixed. She was a hot-blood woman who craved whatever she was told to stay away from, and Happy was no exception.

Lifting his pint to his mouth, he polished off the rest of his beer before tugging his wallet out of the back pocket of his jeans. Just as Catherine was about to tell him she'd pick up the tab, he told her to shut up, tossing a Benjamin down onto the bar. She quickly zipped her lip, realizing he was a man not to argue with. The only thing she could do was thank him for the beer and shots of whiskey.

Not in the mood to wait for his change, Happy didn't say a single word to Catherine, leaving her in pure confusion, as he walked to the dimly lit hallway where the restrooms were located. Her heart instantly began to race, and a fire sparked itself deep within her belly. All Happy had to do was turn around and jerk his chin to tell her to follow him. If she were in her right mind, Catherine would have shaken her head and headed back to Jimmy. Lucky for Happy, she wasn't. Hopping off the stool and onto her feet, Catherine nonchalantly tailed Happy to the bathroom where he pushed her in before closing and locking the door behind her.

"This isn't a good idea," she said.

"Shut up."

Happy didn't care whether it was a good idea or not, all he knew was that he wanted her and he'd deal with whatever chaos came afterward. Like Catherine, the delicious rush of mayhem always tasted too sweet to pass up. He hoisted her up on the vanity, his fingers diving straight into her hair as his lips attacked hers. The kisses were beyond uncoordinated and full of hot, wet tongues. Teeth clashed, lips were bitten, and their noises were irritatingly getting in the way. Catherine mauled him much to his pleasure. She didn't give two thoughts about where on his face she was kissing, licking, or biting. It was open season, and his lips, cheeks, chin, and neck had become targets. Happy wasn't going to let this chance pass him by; he wanted a piece of her before she headed back home and nothing short of getting shot was going to stop him.

There wasn't a single ounce of guilt in Catherine as she felt his large hands move to her denim-clad ass, then the front where he could undo her jeans. Shifting her weight, she helped as much as she could as Happy removed her pants and panties.

She slipped her hands under the shoulders of his kutte, and when Happy shrugged it off, she neatly folded and set it on the counter beside her. Most women he knew would have tossed it to the floor, but his this one. Even though her scene wasn't outlaw bikers, Catherine still understood his colors held great meaning to him and thus treated his kutte with respect.

It wasn't long before Happy's shirt joined her forgotten clothes on the floor.

Never in her life had Catherine seen so much ink on a man. She was obviously a fan of tattoos as she had one herself, but seeing his entire torso and arms covered made him even sexier to her. Biting her lip, she wished she had the opportunity to trace her tongue along the large and elaborate snake on his chest and belly.

"You like what you see?" He broke the silence.

Her big doe eyes looked at him and she nodded. The youth she possessed didn't go unnoticed to him—she was soft and natural unlike most of the women he had been with.

Before dropping his pants, Happy pulled a condom out of his wallet and tore the package open with his teeth.

"I know you Irish Catholics don't believe in using these, but I don't need you tracking me down in nine months."

Catherine cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head to the side as she watched him roll on the condom. There was nothing she could say in her defense, all the times she had been with Jimmy and Lorcan, never once was a form of contraception used. That was mainly due to pure carelessness and not out of her devout religious beliefs.

Nevertheless, Jimmy was a million miles from her thoughts as she could only focus on the broad man before her. Catherine braced herself on the edge of the counter as she leaned back and propped the heel of her foot up by her hand. Happy began to salivate at the sight of the beautiful redhead who had opened for him. He rubbed the head of his cock against her swollen clit, enjoying the small whimpers that escaped her mouth. When he was done having his fun, Happy felt her sharp fingernails dig into his biceps and her legs instinctually wrapped around his waist as he slid inside.

"Fuck, give it up, little girl." His voice was hoarse. It didn't matter that she was soaking wet, it took him several thrusts before her body stretched for him.

The grip she had around him was vice-like, but that didn't mean he would go easy on her. Holding her hips, he quickened his rhythm as his brain began to fog when he caught a whiff of her perfume. She started to quake more each time their hips met frantically.

Catherine had forgotten the thrill that accompanied indiscriminate sex. This wasn't her first time enjoying a dirty romp in the bathroom of a pub, as she had done it thrice before with a True Army lad whom she trained within Tralee. But, Happy brought a new sense of peculiarity as she knew absolutely nothing about him. Breaking the mold of her presumed good Irish-Catholic-girl status, left Catherine feeling more invigorated and alive than ever before. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she was finally living. Saying to hell with the rules and pressures dumped upon her. She would have screwed a stranger a long time ago if she knew that was all it would have taken for her to remind herself she was her own woman, not just the arm-candy who blindly followed every order thrown at her by Jimmy.

"Holy fuck…jus' like that." The vulgarity that slipped from her mouth only excited Happy more. His knees almost buckled when she leaned back, tilting her hips, even more, to allow him to hit deeper.

Sweat began to bead over their skin; her hair sticking to her neck. Letting go of one of her hips, Happy reached up to pull down the cups of her bra, greedily wanting to watch her fat breasts bounce as he drove with more force. Now, it was his mission to make sure she would be sore so she would have something to remember him by when she went back to Northern Ireland.

Catherine slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries when she felt his thumb apply pressure to her clit.

"Please, don't stop," she begged. The words passed through gritted teeth as if Happy could stop at this point if he wanted to.

Her grip on his bicep, those sharp nails diggings into his russet flesh, only encouraged him as he watched her eyes roll into the back of her head. Knowing what that meant, Happy refused to stop rubbing her oversensitive nub, determined more than ever to make her come harder than she ever had.

And, sure enough, Catherine did.

The feeling of her hot, tight, cunt clenching even tighter around him caused his balls to tighten in preparation of his impending climax. His fingers bit painfully into Catherine's hips, whilst he let loose with a few more frantic thrusts, chasing his own orgasm.

Needing a minute to collect himself, Happy dropped his head, his sweaty forehead resting against Catherine's chest. He could feel her heart pounding, just as hard as his was. This was what he loved most about quasi-anonymous sex. She expected nothing more after this one night, just as he was only looking to empty his swollen sac. The only thing that did take him by complete surprise was how good it had been. She seemed like the type to be quiet and reserved in bed, almost ashamed of her healthy appetite when it came to her sexuality. Catherine had wanted it just as bad as him and didn't shy away from his roughness or pure need to get off. Sometimes, it was better when the act was as simple as, I get mine and you get yours.

When Catherine reached up to place a hand on the back of his neck, Happy noticed the shamrock tattoo on her foreman. He straightened up and grabbed her arm, examining it a little more closely.

"I thought Jimmy wasn't your old man."

Catherine jerked her arm away from him, almost embarrassed by what was inked inside of the emerald design. Fiona—along with the rest of her family—nearly had a heart attack when they spotted the black "J" shaded into one of the leaves. Her tattoo had taken Happy aback, as she was so quick to correct him when he referred to Jimmy as her "old man."

"I wish ya wouldn't bring his name up while yer still inside me."

Now it was his turn to raise an eyebrow, as Happy gripped the base of the condom while withdrawing. He tossed the latex barrier away and grabbed a wad of paper towel to clean himself off, and then zipped up. Catherine hopped off the counter; she threw her sweat dampened hair into a messy bun before dressing. Once she had her clothes back on, Happy grabbed her arm again, rubbing his thumb over the green and black ink.

He had seen it happen too many times to count during his tenure in the club. Bitches would ink the name of the man they were screwing, thinking it would last forever, only for the _relationship _to come tumbling down like a house of cards. Her situation was no different and he knew eventually, it would come to an end.

"When it's over, come find me. I can cover this up. Or maybe just the J, at least, so the rest of it can be salvaged. It's great work, whoever did it."

"What makes ye so sure it'll end?"

"You just fucked me in the bathroom of a dingy bar. Obviously, things aren't too serious."

Catherine quickly became defense, revealing far more information that she wanted to divulge. She became emotionally slutty. "He'll leave Fi soon enough."

Happy didn't care enough to ask what the hell she was talking about, but then again it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out she was nothing more than the hopeful mistress. That only made her seem pathetic to him. He realized he did have her pegged wrong. Maybe she wasn't as strong-willed as he originally thought and maybe it was a good thing an ocean would be put between them.

He still told her the truth.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that."

Dropping her arm, Happy reached for his kutte and put it on before opening the bathroom door. He left her there with an overwhelming feeling of regret storming through her. Catherine's back hit the wall as she sank down into a squat, her face buried in her hands. There was no taking back what just happened and there was no use in blinking back the tears. She absolutely hated Happy Lowman at that moment, never wanting to see him again. It wasn't necessarily because she felt guilty about the sex, it was because he had pointed a sad truth she didn't want to face.


	15. Pull Me Up From Down Below

Much to Catherine's astonishment, Jimmy was in bed by the time she crept back into the house sometime after midnight. She was transported back to 1998, sneaking around in the dark as quiet as could be, hoping no one was up and waiting to catch her in the act of breaking curfew.

Ditching her shoes, purse, and keys by the front door, Catherine tip-toed down the hall. She thought about just taking a shower in the guest bathroom as to not disturb Jimmy, but that idea was shot to shit when she remembered all of her stuff was in the master bath.

Gently pushing the bedroom door open, Catherine popped her head in and held her breath. Only when she heard the soft hum of Jimmy's snoring over the air conditioner, did she know it was safe to proceed. She fumbled in the dark, snatching her pajamas off the floor near her side of the bed, and a clean pair of panties from her duffel, before making a mad dash for the bathroom.

Once inside, with the door closed behind her, Catherine flipped on the light. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, she leaned against the door and only shook her head. She kept wondering when the guilt of her indiscretions would settle, but it never came. As she played the events of the last hour over again, it only made her feel as though she had nothing to be guilty for. If Jimmy had absolutely no intention of making an honest woman of her, she was just as free as he was to screw around with whoever she pleased.

Letting out the breath she didn't realize she had been holding, Catherine headed for the bathtub longing for a hot soak to relieve the tension knotting her muscles. She twisted the taps and didn't set the plug until the water was hot enough to turn her skin pink. Just as her hands darted to the button of her jeans, the tight grip that curled around her wrists made her jump in fright.

"Fuck, Jimmy." Catherine sank back into his body, pleased and nervous that it was him. "Scared me half ta death, so ya did."

Jimmy released Catherine's wrists and proceeded to undo the button for her. He slowly pulled down the fly as his lips glued themselves to the small sensitive spot just below her ear lobe. There was no way he didn't smell the pub on her, and Catherine prayed like hell that would go overlooked.

"Everythin' okay?"

She nodded, closing her eyes, just enjoying the rare tenderness as he carefully undressed her. Seemingly he believed her lie, and she wasn't sure just exactly how much she should say. If she let out too much information or not enough, he may question her believability.

"Jus' wanted ta go over numbers again. He said they'll have an answer fer us the day after next."

After dropping her bra to the floor, Jimmy nuzzled the curve of her neck, tantalized by the perfume that still lingered on her skin. He had bought it for her when she accompanied him on a trip to Paris. There was something he was searching for, and much to Jimmy's dismay, he found it. There was one scent the perfume couldn't hide and that was familiar muskiness of sex. He could detect it every time she had slept with Lorcan, and there it was, once again, teasing him as it radiated from her pores.

There was only one person Jimmy blamed for her behavior; himself. He had made the mistake of turning a blind eye when Catherine had boldly begun sleeping with Lorcan. It was painfully clear she had only been doing it as a tactic to make Jimmy jealous and to some extent, it worked. When that relationship finally ended, he had assumed so did the sex with other men. He hadn't told her that she would never belong to anyone else ever again. Never in his life did Jimmy think Catherine could ask so foolishly in the span of only forty-eight hours. He let her have too much freedom and that was all about to change. It killed him to think about what had to be done, but he was not going to allow any bitch, especially not one nearly two decades his junior, make him look like a fool.

Reaching down, Jimmy turned off the water once the tub was full. "Get in."

She did just that without question. Closing her eyes, Catherine sank into the water and a chill spread throughout her body. It was absolute heaven; the only thing that would make it even more perfect was if Jimmy joined her.

Now was the time the guilt of her romp with Happy, began to weigh heavy on her soul. She had been expecting a screaming match—maybe a few punches—upon her arrival home. Not the soft side of Jimmy, which hardly ever made an appearance.

Her eyes jerked open when she felt Jimmy's fingers run along her collarbones. He was sitting on the floor beside the tub and she couldn't help but notice how exhausted he looked. Those light blue eyes were heavy, with dark circles popping from beneath his tanned skin. Catherine removed a hand from the water and rubbed her fingers along the slight bruising on his cheekbone from when she had elbowed him in the face during their last scuffle.

Jimmy held out his left hand, a black velvet box resting in his palm. It wasn't unusual for him to buy her gifts, but considering their last several interactions, it nonetheless took her by surprise.

"Open it," he said.

Eagerly, Catherine scooted herself up and water sloughed around her. Her face lit up with a thousand emotions when she opened the box, but what made Jimmy smile was her pure gratitude and happiness. Inside sat a white gold Claddagh ring, with a sapphire heart.

"Jesus," she gasped.

Jimmy pulled the ring from the box and reached for her right hand, slipping it on her third finger. "Ya like it?"

"I love it! I can't thank ye enough."

Holding her hand out in front of her, she rolled her bottom lip between her teeth when she realized which direction the heart was facing. Inward, towards her own heart, and it brought a bright smile to her face. Jimmy ran a hand through her hair, entangling his fingers in her locks when she turned to face him.

"I love ya, a chuisle, but things are complicated right now an' ye know that. Once I'm on the Council, it'll be just us."

"Aye, I know."

She more than understood why he was so hesitant to shake up his personal life at the moment. Currently in the process of pushing to take over the vacant Quartermaster General position on the Army Council, meant Jimmy had many scrutinizing eyes on him. Although, to Catherine, their sneaking around looked far worse than if he were to just leave Fiona. It had been years since they bothered hiding their relationship, and it was Belfast's most notorious open secret.

Jimmy cupped her cheeks in both his hands as he brought his mouth to hers for a searing kiss. With that ring now on her finger, she would have a reminder as to what she meant to him. Maybe he truly was trying to turn over a new leaf, and Catherine hated herself for not believing him and running off to another man.

When the kiss broke and she looked into his eyes, there was no missing the storm of indignation. At that moment, Catherine understood that Jimmy knew she'd slept with a Son.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered.

Before Catherine had a chance to realize what he meant, Jimmy tightly grabbed her neck in both hands. She screamed and fought him; scratching at his cheek and her fist connected with his temple. His warning from the other night echoed loudly in her ears, and Catherine convinced herself he somehow found out Chibs had been at the pub with her. With all her might, she resisted him, using every ounce of energy she had to break free of his grip. She came to find that the more she struggled, the harder he pushed down on her windpipe. No matter how much she tried to relax, thinking if she stopped fighting back he would have mercy on her, Catherine only grew more agitated as she fought to breathe.

Those jabs weren't enough to faze Jimmy. She eventually lost the battle and he shoved her under the water.

His lips pursed and his heart pounded so hard it almost exploded in his chest. Not caring that he was dressed, Jimmy vaulted into the tub, straddling her body in the small space. Beneath him, Catherine jerked, tossed, and twisted. Her muffled cries faded as she began to inhale water. As bubbles started to rise on the surface, Jimmy pushed down on her neck, even more, feeling the tight ridges of her trachea beneath his thumbs. Catherine wasn't aware that he had no intention of keeping her under long enough for her to meet her maker, and the reason his thumbs bit painfully into her airway was to close it just enough, so she inhaled as little water as possible.

He wasn't a total monster.

Unable to hold her breath any longer, the panic set in. Catherine's nails broke the skin on his forearms as she continued to claw at Jimmy. Her lungs felt as though they were on fire and the water only added to the burn. When the bubbles ceased and her movements calmed, it was only then did he pull her up.

Catherine attempted to rip his hands from her neck as she began to bawl. She wasn't sure which sentiment to process first as she was beyond overwhelmed and having a hard time comprehending what was happening. For the first time in her life, Catherine found herself wishing for a beating. A couple of bruises and a broken nose seemed like nothing compared to the hell Jimmy had just put her through.

This was far from his previous attempt to only hurt her, this was Jimmy using pure terror to once and for all prove that he would always have power over her. That no matter what she did, he was always a step ahead of her—a lesson she needed to quickly learn.

Tears streamed down her face as he loosened his grip. Catherine barked as water spilled from the corners of her mouth.

"Ya do as yer told, Catherine, an' I'm tellin' ye ta never so much as even think of bein' wit another bloke." Jimmy roared.

Without thinking, Catherine spat back. "Go fuck yer'self."

Hearing her speak to him like that only enraged Jimmy more, and he absolutely lost his mind. Releasing one hand, Jimmy cocked his fist back and sucker-punched her once in the nose. Being popped square in the face was the kind of screeching pain that short-circuited Catherine's brain. No matter how many times she had been socked before, there was no preparation that could prepare her for the lightning strikes that engulfed her body. The fact it had happened with no warning only exasperated the effects. As blood exploded from her nostrils and streamed down her mouth, chin, chest, she was left dazed for several moments. When Catherine finally realized what happened, her response was nothing like what Jimmy had expected. He was sure she had a mental break.

She was laughing at him.

Jimmy clenched his jaw so hard he was sure his teeth would shatter. The sound of her sinister cackle was only made more menacing by the sight of blood washing over her whitened teeth.

"Oh, Jimmy," she crooned. Catherine was smiling, but her eyes were dark and dead. "Yer a fuckin' pathetic excuse fer a man."

Catherine tried to stop herself from saying those words, but all impulse control was out the window. Her temper was just as bad as Jimmy's and Patrick's, but what got her in most trouble was her love of instigating.

The sharp metallic flavor she had tasted too many times before, filled her mouth as she further taunted. "Me Da hits harder than that when he's piss drunk."

It was unclear why she kept going, knowing full well it would only end badly if she ran her mouth. A part of her didn't care anymore. Catherine was so used to being a personal punching bag and she sickly wanted to see just how far she could push Jimmy. Fiona had once told Catherine, out of spite, that she was no better than the rest of her comrades; full of rage with a twisted thirst for violence. Maybe she was right.

Catherine was full of shit in her assessment that Patrick could hit harder than Jimmy, and her mind was swimming in pain. When his second punch landed on her mouth, it split her lips and gums open. She gathered as much blood as she could, spitting it right into his face.

What Jimmy failed to recognize over the last several years, was that her initiation weekend in South Armagh had changed her forever. No longer did she cower and take beatdowns without defending herself. In his attempt to break her down and build her up as a Provo, he created himself in her.

Jimmy was fighting a raging battle that he was internally losing. There was truth in that he didn't want to hurt her, but she was pushing too far. Just like Catherine, Jimmy never stepped away from a fight.

Not bothering to seal her airway this time, Jimmy roughly grabbed her wet hair at the crown of her head. His fingers tangled into the roots as he once again drove her under the water. Catherine didn't have time to hold her breath, so the moment she slid under, she sucked copious amounts of the red-tinged water through her nose. It burned worse than before as she felt it fill her lungs, and it wasn't long until dizziness set in.

This time, she didn't fight back. She accepted her punishment, realizing it was far better than taking a bullet in each thigh as that was the Provo way of handling malfeasance. As hopelessness began to grip her the longer Jimmy held her under. The only thing she could hold on to was that he didn't have it in him to take it too far. Catherine knew he was only pushing her to her limits, but her limit was quickly approaching and he showed no sign of letting up.

Her stomach quickly became bloated from the water she was now swallowing. Jimmy held her under for what seemed like an eternity, and it wasn't until he noticed that she was slipping out of consciousness did he pull her up.

Letting go of her hair, Jimmy stood up and stepped out of the tub, sending bloody water sloughing out of the tub. As she leaned over the edge, whooping, he smacked the space between her shoulder blades. He watched indifferently as she spewed water onto the floor.

"Ye'll be fine," he assured. Not even a slight hint of concern could be found. "Been through'a hell of a lot worse, a chuisle."


	16. Pack My Bag and Watch Your Shadow Fade

**Belfast, Northern Ireland **

Catherine stood in front of the minor in her bathroom. She had been home for nearly a week now, and she hadn't left thanks to the bruises she was examining on her neck. Twisting her head from side to side, she winced as she touched one of them. The center of the oval-shaped contusions was still a shade of deep purple, but thankfully the edges were turning a pale green.

Jimmy had sent Catherine back to Belfast early. He made her believe it was because she had disobeyed his orders on several occasions. Truth was, he couldn't stand looking at her with those bruises lining her neck and the split in her lower lip. With the visible evidence of his lost tempter reminding him of what he had done to Catherine, it was easier just to send her away. Jimmy hadn't even been the one to drop her off at San Francisco International; he sent one of his enforcers to do the job for him.

On the afternoon she felt California, Catherine had tried to hide the black and blue marks with makeup to no avail. During the quiet drive, Luke Moran had noticed them and offered her a sad, sympathetic head nod. He knew first hand just how brutal Jimmy could be, and that was why he did whatever he could to avoid Jimmy's crosshairs. As she stepped out of the SUV at the international terminal, Luke handed her a small white tablet and his flask. Still feeling on edge from what happened, she gladly washed down the sedative with a mouthful of whiskey, sleeping soundly on her thirteen-hour flight home. McKeavey picked her up in Dublin, and nearly had a heart attack when he saw the real reason why she was back so soon. He was the one who told Catherine to hunker down at home until the bruises faded, and he promised he wouldn't tell anyone she was back.

Even though she was in the comfort of her home, Catherine was still chasing sleep, unable to stop replaying the events over and over in her tired mind. She hadn't spoken a single word to Jimmy since, and she wasn't sure if she ever wanted to again. He had scared her out of her wits, and she realized the stories she had heard about his ways weren't so far fetched after all. The sadistic reputation he had built, didn't come from being a gentle man.

Hearing a knock at on the front door, Catherine turned off the light in the bathroom and jogged down the stairs. She had been expecting it to be McKeavey with a bag of groceries, so she didn't bother looking through the peephole. The decision not to, suddenly became regretted when she came face to face with another female.

"Fuckin' wonderful."

Fiona watched Catherine wrap the loose powder pink cable-knit cardigan tightly around her torso. Having known her since the day she was born, Fiona knew Catherine only did that when she was feeling antsy. The taut sweater gave her a sense of security.

She was left wondering how Fiona had managed to figure out that Catherine was back home. But, then she remembered that even though Provos were sworn to secrecy, that didn't stop them from gossiping horribly amongst themselves. Word traveled faster in their group than it did at an all girl's grammar school.

Catherine would deal with McKeavey later.

Readjusting the straps of her purse on her shoulder, Fiona wasn't exactly sure what she was doing there either. Years ago, she had found a scrap of paper in Jimmy's office with an address—which was only three blocks away—written on it. While she knew exactly who lived at that address, this was the first time Fiona had mustered the courage to knock on the door.

"We need ta talk," Fiona said.

Catherine knew she had it coming. "Come in."

Moving aside, she let Fiona walk in. She looked around the modest and rehabbed home that Jimmy was shelling out four-hundred pounds a month for to mortgage. When Catherine had graduated from St. Dominic's, Fiona had planned to buy her a personalized keepsake box, but Jimmy went off and secretly bought Catherine a house instead. That right there should have told Fiona all she needed to know then.

It certainly had Catherine's feminine touch, with cream-colored walls, hardwood floors, and pristine white furniture. When Catherine led Fiona into the kitchen, a small vase of fresh cut pink carnations sat on the black, rounded table. Catherine gestured for Fiona to take a seat on one of the chairs, as the young woman walked to the stove to turn on the burner beneath the kettle.

This was a moment Catherine was hoping she could completely avoid forever, as the tension in the air was almost suffocating. The redhead took a seat opposite of Fiona. There were a thousand choice words and questions Fiona wanted to hurl at Catherine, but suddenly she had nothing to say. She decided to start with a neutral topic, one that wouldn't lead to a screaming match off the bat.

"Did ya see him?"

"Aye," Catherine answered softly. "He looks grand an' seems ta be doin' fairly well fer himself."

Fiona adverted her gaze as she tried to control her emotions. A small smile did spread over her lips when an image of the only man she truly loved danced in her brain. She missed Chibs more than words could express, and every day she wished she had left Belfast with him. What left her stationary in Northern Ireland, was the warning the True Army had given her. They made it very clear that if she were to leave, she would never be able to come back. Her daughter had only been six months old when Jimmy exiled Chibs from the Provos, and her focus had been on keeping Kerrianne safe.

"I want ya ta know it's not ye I'm upset with or mad at." Fiona started.

She knew Jimmy had been the aggressor. As he and Fiona weren't legally married, she knew he planned to eventually make good on his promise to leave her once he made the jump to the Army Council. Catherine was stumped for words. She hadn't been expecting Fiona to lead off with a statement like that. In fact, she had been expecting Fiona to storm in, looking for the throwdown she was rightfully entitled to. Catherine did feel horrible for the betrayal as, in reality, Fiona had done nothing but treat her well during the time she had been with Chibs. The anger she felt was misplaced, considering she had come to her own conclusion that it was Fiona's fault that Chibs had left in the first place. His departure had been difficult on everyone, but particularly Catherine. With the differing stories, she had heard from Chibs and Jimmy, the honest truth seemed so muddled.

Just as Catherine was about to open her mouth and respond, the kettle on the stove began to whistle. As she jumped up to attend to it, Fiona noticed a collection of photos on the wall. She remembered the days when membership in the IRA was to be as clandestine as possible. Even though the marriage license could be found in public record, she and Chibs didn't have very many photos together as that was the quickest and easiest way for the Royal Ulster Constabulary to link the husband and wife to the illegal organization. Here, Catherine had half a dozen photos of she and Jimmy framed on the wall. One, in particular, grabbed her attention. Behind the glass, Jimmy and Catherine stood in front of the Eiffel Tower. The beautiful piece of architecture lit up the French night sky as they held one another in a tight embrace. His lips were pressed tenderly to Catherine's temple as her smile was warm. Fiona wasn't sure who her heart broke most for; herself or Catherine. Maybe for both of them. Even a blind man could see the twinkle of pure love in the young woman's eyes.

Settling back into her chair, she handed Fiona a warm mug of black tea. With it nestled between her hands, Catherine blew across the top. "I never meant ta hurt ya, it's the truth. But, if yer here ta try an' talk me outta seein' him, I'm sorry, that's not gonna happen."

"That's not what this is about. I'm simply here ta remind ya of yer place." Fiona set her mug the table and looked Catherine in the eye. "He'll never leave me an' Kerri; he's too selfish. The only thing he cares about is how he looks ta the Council, an' havin' a family by his side only makes him look better. The next time he asks ya ta accompany him on a trip, ya tell him no. I'm his wife, I'm ta be at his side…that needs ta get through yer thick skull."

Catherine licked her lips as she pushed her mug to the side. She didn't realize Fiona had noticed the bruises on her neck.

"We both know Jimmy doesn't ask, he tells ya what ta do. And, what yer not understandin' is that those were business trips, Fi. I'm makin' deals to pump cash inta our dyin' fight. However, what yer failin' ta understand as well, is that I can give Jimmy his _own_ family. Don't ya ever forget that."

Her words were salt in Fiona's wounds. While it was true she was well past her childbearing years, one thing Catherine didn't know was that Fiona never wanted children with Jimmy. She never wanted something that would so permanently tie her that man, nor could she live with herself if she bore a son who grew up to be exactly like his father.

"He'll never have children wit' ya. Do ya really think Jimmy loves you? Yer nothin' more than a toy 'ta him." Fiona wasn't sure if she was telling Catherine the true, or simply trying to convince herself of it. Either way, she reached across the small table and moved the collar of Catherine's sweater aside to get a better look at her neck. "There are only two tragedies in life, Catherine. Not gettin' what ya want, an' gettin' it. I supposed it would make sense though that ya end up with a man like Patrick."

The words that left Fiona's mouth stung Catherine with humiliation, but she wouldn't dare let it show. Catherine was well aware of that fact that Fiona knew her days were numbered and this was nothing more than her flexing muscle while she still had it. What Catherine wanted to do was remind Fiona of _her_ place; show her the bedroom she shared with Jimmy. Show her how over half of his clothes were hanging in the closet upstairs, how several pairs of his cufflinks were strewn on the dresser. In the bathroom, his toothbrush rested in the holder beside hers, and in the shower, his shampoo and body wash mingled with hers on the toiletry rack. But, when Catherine rubbed her neck and felt the ache of those bruises, she almost told Fiona she could collect Jimmy's stuff and keep him all to herself. When Jimmy returned to Belfast, Catherine wasn't sure if she'd even be in the Short Strand anymore.

"What are ya doin' here, Fi?"

Time froze the second the male voice echoed in the kitchen. Catherine looked over her shoulder to see Jimmy standing in the archway between the living room and kitchen. He hung his keys on one of the hooks on the wall beside the telephone. Catherine's heart immediately began to pound, threatening to jump straight out of her chest, as the anxiety of seeing him set in. Fiona's eyes avoided Jimmy completely as she took notice to the fact Catherine was on the verge of an anxiety attack. The one and only time Fiona had ever seen Catherine as frightened as she currently was, was in 1988 and the funeral for the Gibraltar Three had been attacked at Milltown Cemetery.

Instead of answering his question, Fiona only asked one of her own. "What in God's name did ya do ta the poor girl?"

The small space of the kitchen vibrated with Jimmy's roaring laughter. He, nor Catherine, could believe Fiona had the nerve to stand up for her. To Catherine, she felt as though Fiona's unwarranted defense made her look weak and it embarrassed her all to hell.

"I think ye should leave, yeah?" She turned her attention to Fiona and through a shaky voice, Catherine attempted to sound as assured as possible.

Slowly standing to her feet, Fiona's gaze darted between Catherine and Jimmy. The mood between the lovers was tense and alarming, and Fiona was hesitant to leave her alone with him. She decided the moment she got home, she'd call Patrick to make a wellness check on his daughter. Silently nodding, Fiona thanked Catherine for her hospitality. Both women knew this conversation was far from over, but they'd have to do it when Jimmy was out of Belfast. Catherine got up to see Fiona out, and when she returned, she found Jimmy occupying his usual chair.

Ignoring him, she could feel his eyes watching her every move. From the top shelf of a cabinet, Catherine grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey and hoisted herself to sit on the counter. She uncapped it and took a swig, needing a little Irish courage. He was home four days early and whether or not that was a good thing had Catherine wondering. It was obvious he had just arrived home, as Jimmy appeared slightly jet-lagged and his suit was wrinkled. Under any other circumstances, Catherine would have been flattered that his first stop was to see her, but now she couldn't care less.

"SAMCRO approved the deal," he said.

"So I heard." Catherine kept her eyes forward, staring at the clock as the minute hand slowly ticked.

The sound of his Oxford's scuffling on the floor was the hint to Catherine that Jimmy was making his way to her. He snatched the bottle off the counter beside her, resting his back on the wall across from her.

"I figured ya'd be a little more excited by the news. Never would'a happened without ye puttin' in the work."

She should have just taken the compliment, but she didn't care that SAMCRO had accepted the deal she offered to them. As of two days ago, that was no longer her responsibly and the weight of the world now seemed to be off her shoulders. By the way he was speaking to her, it became painfully clear to Catherine that her news hadn't reached him yet. A week was a long time to be gone from Belfast.

Sucking her teeth, she took a deep breath and prepared herself for more fireworks.

"I spoke wit' Darragh Ryan a few days ago." The mere mention of the officer commanding's name had Jimmy guzzling from the bottle of Bushmills. "He agreed ta take me on in his unit."

"Ya made the right decision wit Darragh. The two of us workin' together isn't a good idea anymore."

His response left Catherine flabbergasted. She hadn't been expecting him to let her go without a fight. Moving out of Jimmy's unit didn't mean that his command over her was ending, but going under Darragh Ryan did pull her out of weapons trafficking completely. This new opportunity would have her working surveillance, counter-intelligence, and planning operations.

Jimmy cleared his throat to get Catherine's attention. "There's somethin' we need ta talk about, Catherine."

"We've nothin' ta talk about," she sneered. "What ya did ta me…I never wanna see ya again."

Rolling his eyes, Jimmy strolled the short distance back to the table where he picked up a large orange envelope. Confusion whirled through Catherine as she took it from his outstretched hand.

"Yer suspended from active duty, indefinitely. Darragh already knows; I had the charges filed right after ya left Cali."

Jimmy's words made Catherine's head spin. As quickly as she could, she tore into the envelope and pulled out three crisp pages. As she read the first page, her eyes were having a hard time focusing on the words as her vision started fading in and out. Her entire body began to shake like a leaf when her worst nightmare was confirmed. There it was, clear as day:

…_hereby summoned to trial by Court-martial. _

Choking back tears, Catherine flipped the page to read the charges against her.

"Ye mother fucker!" she screamed. Jumping off the counter, Catherine pushed Jimmy until his back hit the wall. She repeated the charges outlined in her summons. "Insubordination, reckless behavior, and fraternization. Are ya fuckin' jokin' wit this shite?"

It would be a lie if Jimmy told Catherine his decision to have her face a court-martial wasn't personal. He was just as scorned as she was over what happened during their trip to California. During the process of drafting the charges, Jimmy kept telling himself he was doing it for her own good, as she was starting to feel as though she was untouchable. It was time to remind her of the rank she held, and that in the end, Jimmy wasn't her friend or lover, he was her superior officer.

"I warned ya not ta see Filip, an' ye disobeyed that order, not once, but twice. In the process of disobeyin' said order, ya acted recklessly by bein' seen in public wit SAMCRO, drinkin'. On top of it all, ya fucked a Sons patch member, which ye know is not allowed. All ya had ta do was listen, Caitie. Ye left me wit no choice. Am I clear?"

Catherine took a deep breath, hating the fact she had no room to fight him on it. In hindsight, anyone else in her position would have to face a court martial if they acted as she had. She knowingly broke commonsense rules, and she had no choice but to humbly face the consequences. Continuing to lose her composure with Jimmy, would only give him more ammunition for her trial. The one thing she feared more than death, was being excommunicated from the IRA. What she had to devote her time to now, was finding a lad to act as her representation and build her defense.

"Aye. Yer clear."

"Grand," Jimmy grabbed her cheeks and maneuvered her head so she was forced to look up at him. "We good?"

It took a nanosecond for his question to penetrate her brain. When she comprehended those two words, Catherine smacked Jimmy's hands off of her and took a step back.

"Are ya fuckin' mental? No, we're not good!"

He knew she had every right to be pissed beyond belief, but he didn't think she would respond that way. Catherine forgave him for his past transgression, so Jimmy couldn't figure out what was keeping her from doing it this time. Their relationship followed a fluid formula that typically consisted of drinking, fighting, and fucking. Usually in that exact order. But, what Jimmy failed to grasp was that in his rash decision to file charges against Catherine, he hammered the final nail in the coffin lid of their relationship. If pulling rank was how he was going to respond to personal vendettas, then Catherine wanted nothing more than a working relationship with him.

Catherine swore the ache she felt in her chest was that of her heart breaking. For her entire life, she had loved Jimmy unconditionally, thinking there was no part of that man, which could drive her away. In her eyes, he could do no wrong, but he had so far crossed the line of decency that Catherine wasn't sure who the man standing before her was anymore. The Jimmy she knew and loved would never turn to physical violence against her, nor would he drag her through the demoralizing and emotionally draining process of a court-martial. Jimmy knew first hand the toll it took on a person, as he had gone through it firsthand following his actions against Chibs.

"Yer not even sorry, are ya?" she asked.

Jimmy's hesitation told her everything she needed to know, but she still waited to hear his pathetic excuse of an answer.

"I really am sorry fer losin' me cool wit ye, but, ye have no idea how badly ya pissed me off an' pushed me ta the edge."

His gut reaction to blame her for him losing his temper was something Catherine should have seen coming. His deep-rooted fault in never being able to accept responsibility for his actions always felt Catherine frustrated and helpless. Nothing was ever his fault, the people around him were always the ones screwing up, and if they hadn't, then Jimmy wouldn't have lost his temper.

Catherine threw her arms up in defeat and walked out of the kitchen without a single word. Jimmy followed her, hot on her heels, as she marched up the stairs and to her bedroom. From under her bed, she grabbed a duffle bag and placed it on the mattress. Now, it was Jimmy's turn to feel helpless as he watched her pull clothes from her dresser.

"What the hell are ya doin?" He grabbed her bag off the bed and held it above his head, out of Catherine's reach, like a tantruming child.

She wasn't going to give into his tactics and respond impulsively. The only thing Catherine had at this point was her dignity, and for her own sake, she needed to be the level headed one. "I think t'would be a good idea if I stayed wit me parents fer a while. After the court-martial, we can talk an' figure out where ta go from there."

Jimmy's stomach dropped and he thought he going to be sick. He felt like he was outside of himself, watching his relationship with Catherine fall apart and there was nothing he could do to put the pieces back together. From the beginning, he had known bringing her to California would be a mistake, but there was no way to predict this was how it would turn out. Of all people, Jimmy blamed Chibs for the demise of his life with Catherine. Had the Scotsman just left his niece alone, she wouldn't have felt inclined to indulge in her curiosity, thus avoiding trouble altogether.

Surrendering, Jimmy placed the bag back on the bed and took a seat beside it. Catherine returned to packing, stuffing all of her necessities inside.

"It's over, isn't it?" he asked.

When he looked up at her, Catherine stopped zipping up the bag as she swore she saw tears welling in his eyes. She never thought he was capable of showing human emotion, and the expression of pure heartache tightening his face only added to her agony. Catherine had managed to catch a glimpse of how Jimmy felt, but his attempt to open up to her was too little too late. He hated himself for pushing away the only girl who had ever meant anything to him. No matter what, she would always be his Catherine—his mo chuisle—and if she was ready to move on, he needed to let her go.

"Aye, it is." At the sight of tears streaming down her cheeks, Jimmy jumped up. He drove his fingers through the wavy copper locks he loved so much and held her face close to his. Catherine wanted to pull away, but she also wanted to savor this last moment with him. "Ya need ta stay wit' Fiona, an' raise Kerrianne. That's yer family, Jimmy, that's where ye've always belonged."

Her voice was thick, laced with anguish that plunged a dagger deep into his heart. Fiona and Kerrianne wasn't the family he wanted; he wanted Catherine and wee ones of his own. When their noses brushed, Jimmy let his guard down, and for the first time in seventeen years, he cried.

"I promise I'll make it right again." Jimmy choked.

Catherine shook her head and pulled away. Jimmy's heart seized as she pulled the Claddagh ring off her finger, before reaching for his hand and placing it in his palm. The tears skated faster down his cheeks as she closed his fingers around it.

He begged, "don't fuckin' do this, a chuisle. This is only a rough patch, an' we can get through it."

Watching Jimmy breakdown right before her eyes and fight the urge to comfort him, was one of the hardest things Catherine had ever done. She wanted to gather him tight in her arms, reassure him everything would be fine in the end, but she couldn't bring herself to lie to him. Or, most importantly, herself. Wiping the tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands, Catherine grabbed her duffle and slung it over her shoulder.

"I have ta go." That was all Catherine said before turning on her heels and dashing down the stairs. She was afraid if she didn't leave now, she never would.

Slipping on her shoes, she grabbed her keys and court summons and headed home to the Lower Falls. It was a ten-minute drive to her parent's house on the west side of the river. The only thing that kept Catherine from crying over the grief of her seemingly dead relationship with Jimmy, was the summons sitting on the passenger seat of her car. When she pulled up in front of the house, Catherine quickly gathered her stuff and hurried to the door. She refused to hang her head low as she pushed through the gate and knocked on the front door, reminding herself thrice over not to cry even a single tear over the past.

Patrick opened it, looking beyond surprised to see his daughter standing in front of him with a duffle.

She lifted the summons to show her father. "The mother fucker is makin' me appear before a court-martial."

He hadn't a chance to respond to her, as Catherine collapsed into Patrick's arms. Her face buried in his chest, the father and daughter embraced each other tightly. There was only so much Patrick could do to sooth Catherine, as her shrill sobs soaked his t-shirt with tears.


	17. Armored Cars, and Tanks and Guns

Patrick flicked the ashes of his cigarette into an empty Coke can while hunched over the summons, reading each charge against Catherine vigilantly. When he finished, he pushed the papers into the center of the table and took a long drag from his Marlboro.

"Just how bad is it?" Liam asked.

Catherine rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. There was no use in lying to her brother. "Bad. My best option is ta plead guilty, an' then pray real hard they don't toss me arse 'ta the curb."

That wasn't at all what Patrick or Liam wanted to hear her say. They were hoping she would deny it all, so she could go before the Court and explain to them this was nothing more than a sad attack on her reputation by a scorned lover. Sure, that would then require her to plead guilty to a charge of fraternization with a superior officer, but the consequence for that was far less severe than what she was currently facing.

"Jesus. How much of this shite is true?" Patrick questioned his daughter.

While the arguments were rather compelling, Patrick was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact Catherine was actually guilty of what she was being accused of. She didn't want to break her father's heart, as Jimmy had spared no detail, especially when it came to accusations of fraternization with the Sons of Anarchy. It had been humiliating enough to tell her father and brother why she had been sent back to Belfast early. When Liam almost stormed out of the house to pay a visit to Jimmy to see if he enjoyed being sucker punched, Catherine didn't even attempt to stop him. Not wanting any more trouble brought to the O'Toole clan, Patrick threat of tying Liam up in backyard was all that could settle him down.

Avoiding eye contact with Patrick, Catherine scuffled to the kitchen table where she took a seat beside her new officer commanding, Darragh Ryan. Only five years older than Catherine, the Donegal native had rightfully earned his position of unit commander after he sacrificed four years in prison when an operation had gone terribly wrong. Since he took over, his unit was by far the most clandestine and had the highest success rate. Darragh knew talent when he saw it, and he only recruited the best the Falls Road had to offer. From the beginning of the unit's formation, he was smart enough to know Catherine was off limits, but the minute she called him looking to jump back to her old stomping ground, there was no way he could turn her away. Everyone could see her court-martial was Jimmy simply flexing his muscle over her, and Darragh would be damned if he was going to allow these frivolous charges to keep his best soldier off the street.

"Let's not panic jus' yet." Darragh remained his typical unflustered self as he addressed Catherine. "First an' foremost, I got a date ta go before the court an' appeal Jimmy's order of yer suspended status."

In unison, the father and son muttered insults in Irish under their breaths. A suspension of active duty during this exasperating process was an anomaly. If they needed any more proof that Jimmy was dragging Catherine through this for personal reasons, this was it. Those who were being investigated as suspected informants weren't even stripped of their daily responsibilities. Catherine felt as though Darragh was her guardian angel, blessed that he had already gotten the ball rolling to bring her back into the ranks. The world around her seemed as though it was rapidly spinning out of control, and she had no idea if she'd come out on the other side still standing on her feet.

This was quite possibly the toughest lesson she's ever had to learn. Though it was hard to watch Catherine fall flat on her face, Patrick knew he couldn't pick up the pieces for her this time. He had been telling her for years her relationship with Jimmy would come back to bite her in the ass, and he was waiting for the right moment to say, "I told you so."

Though she was already aware of how badly this could turn out for her, Patrick decided to keep his mouth shut and not tell Catherine that her chances of escaping any sort of punishment were slim-to-none. After splitting with the Provisionals, the True Army Council had made a point on several occasions to put an end to relationships between volunteers and their superior officers. The drama they caused only led to sloppy mistakes being made. When sloppy mistakes were made, innocent people died and other volunteers were thrown in jail.

It pissed Patrick off beyond all belief that Jimmy's inability to keep his cock in his pants, was going to cost Catherine any chance she had at climbing the officer ladder.

Patrick pointed his finger at Catherine. The way his eyes burned with a deep fury told Catherine that whatever he was about to say, she better listen. There was no way it wasn't the ass-chewing she rightfully deserved.

"Yer too old an' too smart ta be playin' these games, Catherine. If ya go back ta him after all this shite is over, don't ya even bother comin' back here."

Catherine could feel her cheeks burn. She didn't appreciate the fact Patrick had reprimanded her romantic life in front of her respectable commander. Licking the corner of her mouth, Catherine turned to Patrick with displeasure written all over her face.

"Ya have me word, Da. I'm done wit' him." She reached for the papers in the center of the table and held them up. "I'm not fuckin' takin' this layin' down. I took up me Armalite, an' pledged ta fight fer the IRA…that's exactly what I plan on doin' until I'm buried at Milltown."

* * *

Emerging from the steamy bathroom freshly showered and shaved, Catherine crossed the hall to her childhood bedroom. The door creaked as she closed it. A wave of emotion crashed into her all at once as she stood in the center of the room. She took a deep breath, remembering all the good, and equally bad, experiences she had lived out amongst those dusty rose walls. There were stories hidden in every inch of that space, and a part of Catherine wished she could go back to more carefree days. She never thought she'd end up living there again, but life was fickle and hardly ever went to plan.

Draping her towel on the chair to her vanity desk, Catherine dug through her bag for a pair of pajamas. Comfortably dressed, she brushed out her damp hair before wrestling it into French-braided pigtails.

She intended to head back into the bathroom so she could brush her teeth and then call it a night, but the light from her parent's bedroom flooding the hallway distracted her. Moseying to the door, Catherine pushed it open just enough so she could rest her shoulder on the doorjamb. Patrick was sprawled out in the center of the bed, one knee bent, one arm thrown lazily over his head as he watched RTÉ. Not taking his eyes off the television, he knew Catherine was standing there.

"What's on yer mind, kid?"

"Ya mind company?"

Catherine wasn't in any hurry to spend time alone. She knew once the dark hours of the night set in, she'd be diving deep into a bottle while wallowing in self-pity. The longer she could put that scheduled activity on hold, the better.

Patrick wasn't going to turn Catherine away. It had been four years since she left home, and out of all his grown children, it was her presence Patrick missed the most. He waved the remote as a gesture for her to come in, moving out of the center of the mattress. Catherine crawled in beside her father, where she rested her back on the headboard. She was wearing only a tank-top so Patrick spotted the bruises, feeling his anger boil at the sight of those gruesome, dark marks popping out against her pale skin. Uncertainty of the abuse Catherine had silently suffered by the hands of Jimmy O, was enough to spark the little voice in the back of his head telling Patrick to drink. Thankfully, he was thinking clearly enough to understand that drinking would only swell his vexation, and push him into doing something he would sorely regret.

Pulling her knees to her chest, Catherine rested her cheek on one of them as she looked at Patrick. He couldn't remember a point in time where she had ever looked this drained. Seeing her like that was his own painful reminder of his days on the front lines. After his last stint in an H-Block cell, Patrick had taken a step back from his full-time duties as a unit gunman, taking up work as a laborer at the shipyard. Although the work was back-breaking, he enjoyed it far more than anything he ever did for the IRA.

"Do ya regret any of it?" Catherine asked.

"Regret what?"

There was a lot Patrick regretted in life, he needed her to be more specific.

"The Ra."

He didn't have to think about it, and before the two words left Catherine's mouth, Patrick was shaking his head. It didn't matter that his body was tattered, or that his mind was scarred with reminders of not only what was done to him, but also of what he did, Patrick would never fully resign from his post. He had promised to fight until freedom's day and for that reason, he couldn't fault Catherine for her refusal to retreat from the dying and dangerous fight.

There was so much about her father's past she desperately wished to know, but she was certain he would take that information to the grave. For far too long, she held unwavering resentment towards him. Not only for the beatings she had taken thanks to him, but for his absences. Only when Catherine joined the same cause and became old enough to understand just what the life entailed, did she realize her father—although still alive—was a causality of the Troubles.

To some extent, Catherine wondered if she would eventually turn out exactly like Patrick. Aloof, angry, a struggling alcoholic. However, Catherine refused to allow those qualities to define him. In her eyes, Patrick would always be a head-strong and hardworking man, who did whatever it took to provide for his family.

Catherine swallowed hard, taking a leap of chance. She asked Patrick about the first time he had been carted away to Long Kesh. The air suddenly became heavy, almost suffocating, and she wished she could take her question back. From his cheeks, the color drained, leaving Patrick ashen as those horrific memories flashed vividly in his mind. No matter how hard he tried to bury it or drink it away, that reality never faded for him.

When Patrick turned off the television, Catherine thought he was able to tell her to get lost. He didn't; instead, he decided to _finally _tell his story.

"Even though t'was over twenty-years ago, it still feels like yesterday. Fer three days, they beat me senseless an' I finally signed a confession fer a crime I didn't even commit." Patrick avoided eye contact with Catherine instead, focusing on the Crucifix hanging on the wall. "The day I was sentenced, yer Ma was in court, ready ta pop she was so pregnant wit' ya. Judge gave me fifteen-years; I was out in four."

Catherine listened intently as Patrick poured out his past to her. She felt a surge of pride when he told her he had taken part in the blanket protest during its final year. Her heart broke as he spoke fondly of Bobby Sands, and how the time they spent together discussing Irish poetry made the hours seem a little more tolerable. She felt silly when Patrick reached out and wiped away _her_ tears after he described the physical brutality he experienced inside the walls of the H-Block.

Hearing all of it only made Catherine realize she had made the right decision in following in his footsteps. It also left her feeling exhilarated about her new role with Darragh—it was exactly where she wanted to be. She had fun seeing the world and trafficking weapons with Jimmy, but for Catherine, there would be nothing like the sense of accomplishment that followed a successful mission on the ground. Now that her fate in the IRA was nothing more than a wait-and-see, that did little to suppress her nerves. She wondered how bad her punishment would be if she defied her suspension order, and got to work anyway. Darragh had even told her that he'd take the wrath of the Council if she was up to scout out information on an upcoming operation.

Patrick had seen the hungry glint that glazed over her eyes when Darragh told Catherine their unit had been handed the responsibility of taking out a rival republican group. It scared Patrick to see that spark still shimmering hours later. Jimmy really had drilled it into her head that every act of violence was her republic duty.

* * *

Catherine was having an impossible time falling asleep. She tossed and turned, trying in vain to find a comfortable position as the clock laughed in her face. Around three in the morning, she gave up, deciding her time was better spent staring at the ceiling. From across the hall, Catherine could hear Patrick's heavy snoring and she envied his ability to sleep under any circumstances.

Closing her eyes briefly, they quickly shot open the second her bedroom filled with the all too familiar pulsating blue light. Jumping out of bed, Catherine dashed straight for her window. Not only did her heart nearly stop beating, but it also sank into her stomach as she watched squad cars, and the armored Land Rovers of the Police Service of Northern Ireland collect right in front of the house.

"Fuckin' hell," she shrieked.

Catherine prayed the officers were there only for a raid, in search of only weapons, or explosives. She'd rather die fighting than have to watch Patrick be dragged away once again.

As quickly as she could, Catherine stripped from her sweatpants and wriggled into a pair of Levi's. Following her gut-feeling, she slid her feet into a pair of flats before leaving her room. She had been through countless raids before, but they never ceased to be terrifying. She stopped herself from even having a moment to feel much of anything, trying to remember if all the weapons that had once been stashed in the house were safely over the border in the Republic.

In the hallway, Catherine flipped on the light, calling out for Patrick. When she barged into his bedroom, she shook him awake.

"Get dressed," she instructed. "Fuckin' peelers are here."

At the mere mention of the word, "peelers," Patrick's eyes shot open as the adrenaline rush kicked in. In record time, he had bolted from bed and dressed, jogging down the stairs to open the door before they could bust it themselves. Several officers were decked out in black tactical gear, with their rifles held against their chests. As they approached the house, Patrick sternly warned Catherine not to move from the step she had planted herself on. All Catherine could do was shake her head. Watching most of the house get torn up in a useless raid was fitting; it was the perfect shitty ending to a perfect shitty week. With the gaggle of officers making their way to Patrick, Catherine started to compile a list of names in her head, of people who would be free to help clean up the mess PSNI always left behind.

She sat unamused on the stairs, her elbow resting on her knee with her chin in her palm. She rolled her eyes when the officers arrogantly smirked at her as they stood just outside the door.

The only bright side Catherine managed to see in this entire mess, was the fact her mom was in Glasgow, visiting her eldest sister.

"I think ye blokes have the wrong house," Patrick teased.

One of the officers pointed his rifle at Patrick, while they walked into the house. Realizing he was sorely outnumbered in manpower, he backed up as they pushed further into the living room.

One spoke with an aggravated tone, "shut yer bake, Paddy."

Catherine vaguely heard her father spit another taunt when her eyes landed on two female officers who exited one of the sedans. Watching the brunette pull her handcuffs from her belt, while the blonde kept a firm hold on the pistol she wore on her hip, Catherine came to the conclusion this wasn't a raid. She covered her face with her hands, hoping it was just all a bad dream.

"Catherine O'Toole," the brunette officer grabbed Catherine's forearm, tugging her to her feet before pushing her flush against the wall and roughly maneuvering her hands behind her back. The cool steel of the cuffs tightening around her wrists told Catherine this wasn't a dream, this was cold, hard reality. "Yer bein' arrested under Section 41 of the Terrorism Act."

Turning her head, Catherine pressed her cheek against the wall. She focused her eyes only on Patrick. Four heavily armed officers created a barrier between the father and daughter, and Patrick didn't even flinch with those rifles pointed variously to his head and chest. Time slowed to the point of stopping. In her ears, the blood pounded so hard that Catherine couldn't even hear her own breathing. By the way Patrick's mouth moved, she knew he was speaking but she couldn't make out a single word.

The honeymoon period had come to an end for her. She was officially a suspected terrorist to the forces of the Crown. Four years was a long time to avid the federal authorities and even through her shock, Catherine couldn't help but wear those handcuffs as a badge of honor. In the hysteria, she silently reminded herself that even the likes of Gerry Adams, Brendan Hughes, the Price sisters, and even Mairéad Farrell had once found themselves exactly where she currently was.

The female officers each grabbed one of Catherine's arms, pulling her towards the front door. Although she managed to keep her expression neutral, there was a part of Catherine that wished Jimmy was there to witness this milestone; surely it would make him proud.

"While ya should always strive ta stay under the radar, ye should never fear bein' arrested, a chuisle." She remembered Jimmy once told her. "If they arrest ya, it means they fear ye."

Taking those first steps outside, Catherine kept her head held high. The flashing lights of the armored cars stopped in the middle of the Falls Road illuminated the sleeping street. As they led her to one of the sedans, she noticed some of her neighbors were desperately trying to peak around the Land Rovers.

Five years ago, when she had first begun her _Green Book _lectures, the first thing taught to the new recruits was that no matter the circumstances, they must say nothing. When the back door of the car was opened and the officers shoved Catherine inside, she was prepared to do just that.

At the Musgrave Police Station, Catherine didn't utter a single word as she was booked. For the first time in her life, she was fingerprinted and posed for a series of mug shots. There was no denying that while she seemed cool and collected on the outside, she was an outright wreck internally. All she kept trying to figure out was how the hell she ended up on their radar, as well as what evidence they had to justify an arrest without a warrant.

It felt like an eternity, but in actuality, not even an hour had passed. This time around, two male officers escorted Catherine down a brightly lit hallway. She knew their tight grip on her biceps was on purpose, and she prayed it wouldn't leave any more finger-shaped bruises on her.

In the middle of the hall, the officers stopped. The one on her left let go of her so he could open the cell door. As it slid open, the one who Catherine came to believe was playing the role of bad cop, roughly pushed her into the fairly small space.

"Yer right where ya belong, Provo cunt."

Catherine refused to give either of the officers the time of day. Instead, she turned her back on them and rubbed the sore spots on her right bicep. Only when she heard the chilling sound of the cell door slamming shut, did she shutter. Taking a seat on the sad-excuse of a bed, Catherine let out a soothing breath, trying to make sense of the last twelve hours. She was in shock; still not comprehending the fact she was sitting in a jail cell.

Nonetheless, Catherine felt like she was in the Twilight Zone the moment she looked up and saw who was sitting in the cell across from her.

Jimmy.


	18. Say Nothing

Time ceased to exist for Catherine. She had absolutely no idea how long she had been lying on the tiny bed for when a team of two detectives opened the sliding door to her cell. This wasn't the first occurrence in which they had made their presence known. Several times they had nonchalantly strode down the brightly lit hall, not even stopping as they threw insults at both Catherine and Jimmy. She tried to ignore their slurs, reminding herself that this was exactly what she had been trained to expect. But, by the seventh time the words "Provo, whore cunt" echoed in her cell, Catherine almost reached through the gaps in the bars to grab one of the detectives to instill a healthy fear in them.

Remaining placid, Catherine exited her cell and quickly glanced into Jimmy's empty one. Sometime earlier, a set of detectives who she didn't recognize, had fetched him. It didn't matter that he was on the top of her shit list, Catherine found herself disgusted by the way those men had been speaking to him. She couldn't stand how the two of them were intentionally being degraded; making them feel subhuman was nothing more than a tactic to extract a confession. Biting her tongue was one of the hardest things Catherine ever had to do.

As they escorted her to an interrogation room on the other side of the station, all Catherine could think about was how cold and dead Jimmy had looked. She knew this was far from his first rodeo when it came to being questioned by police, but Catherine couldn't help but wonder about what was waiting for her in that room. If Jimmy had to mentally check out just to survive forty-eight hours of this, Catherine knew she was in a world of hurt.

Inside the room, the detective who had been walking behind her man-handled Catherine into the chair. She was thankful he didn't cuff her and she wanted to roll her eyes at just how predictable the men were acting. Earlier on, Catherine had learned that two pairs of detectives would be tasked with leading her questioning. The name-calling, threats, and insults outside her cell door had gone down exactly as the _Green Book_ outlined. Never in her life had Catherine been so thankful for the intense psychological training Jimmy had subjected her to in South Armagh. These lads were there to play bad cop; attempt to break her spirit and force her into signing a cock-and-bull confession. The only way Catherine was signing any sort of document was if she were cold and dead.

At first, Catherine found them to be a humorous pair. One of them told her, "yer nothin' like we thought. Here we were, expectin' some homely lass. What's a girl like ye gettin' involved with the likes of the IRA?"

Nonetheless, their charm didn't last long. Before Catherine knew it, one of the men had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and came in close to her. He accused her of being an arms trafficker—which was true—as well as being connected to several murders. Also true. The detective who sat across from her at the table hardly spoke, only opening his mouth when he wanted to make a derogatory remark about her being an Irish Catholic.

What caught her seriously off guard was when an officer mentioned her involvement with a car bomb that had gone off in County Down four years ago. They got in her face, calling her an evil and vile woman for having supplied the five-hundred pounds of fertilizer and gelignite for the bomb that injured several RUC men and civilians. She was startled when they stated they knew the mortar attack on the Grosvenor Road RUC station had failed because _she_ supplied the lads in Liam's unit with malfunctioning shells. The balding man who had his sleeves pushed up, told Catherine she wasn't as clandestine as she used to be. That she had gotten sloppy on the operation which destroyed part of the police training college in Belfast last month, and how he wouldn't stop coming after her until she was locked up for good.

They intimidated her into talking, into giving up her brother, Jimmy, the Army Council. She responded by saying nothing, and that only infuriated them even more. By now, the threats were getting old, but a part of Catherine was genuinely worried they would make good on getting word on the street that she had turned informant.

"Yer already a Provo whore. It wouldn't be hard fer them ta believe that yer exchangin' sex fer information wit' an officer."

When that didn't work, and she still didn't talk, they resorted to threatening Patrick. The thought of them tossing her father back in jail for his continued membership in the IRA almost broke Catherine. She almost fed them false information just to shut them up, but she knew she'd be in hot water with both the PSNI and the IRA if she did so. When there was a knock on the door, they ceased their brutal tactics. Before leaving her with a pair of detectives in their early-thirties, the balding man looked Catherine dead in the eye.

"Ya did alright; held yer own. Never once opened yer mouth, like a good IRA sheep. Yer IRA, aren't ya, Catherine? If ya just admit it, all of this will be over."

Her emotions did get the best of her when he called her a sheep. She wasn't following IRA protocol because she followed the herd, she followed it because she felt she was doing the right thing. It wasn't in her blood to rat. Raising her hand from her lap, Catherine let her middle finger do the talking for her. The bald man chuckled, then mumbled something to the young detectives before leaving the room with his partner.

Catherine sat at the cold metal table, crossing her arms over her chest as she avoided eye contact with the next team of detectives. The even younger and more attractive one was trying his best to appeal to Catherine, but she saw right through his facade. He had brought her a can of soda, saying it was against regulations to do so, and instead of sitting in the chair across from her, he sat on the table as if they were schoolmates at lunch getting ready to engage in friendly banter.

One of the first things Catherine had learned in her _Green Book _lectures, was how to handle herself during an interrogation. The commander who had instructed her group of recruits taught Catherine to pick a point on either the table or wall to hyper-focus on and ignore whatever nonsense dripped from the interrogator's mouth. Catherine stared straight ahead, trying her hardest to keep her eyes glued to a thumbtack that was sticking out on a cork board. She was also taught to fill her mind with other thoughts of music, history, fond memories, but she was struggling most with that.

Unfortunately for Catherine, the detective was privy to what she was doing. He waved his hand in front of her face, "how about ya focus on these, Catherine."

Opening a manila folder, the detective pushed several photos in front of her. Breaking her concentration, Catherine picked it up and studied it. The sweat which had slicked her palms transferred to the paper, and she clenched her jaw. The photo hadn't been taken in Belfast; it was of her and Jimmy walking hand-in-hand along the Newry River. She picked up another one, which had been taken at Ormeau Park in Belfast. The couple was sitting at their usual Friday night picnic bench, eating their usual order of fish and chips, from their usual chippy. Although she did a good job of hiding her displeasure, Catherine wanted to slap herself for having fallen into a comfortable routine with Jimmy.

"Catherine," he said softly. The way the cop spoke her name made her sick to her stomach. She wished he would stop saying it. "What can ya tell me about Jimmy O'Phelan?"

Not even for a moment did she lose her edge, and without uttering a single word she returned her gaze back to the thumbtack. Her lack of response vexed the officer, but considering he had been tasked with playing the good cop, he did what he could to regain his composure.

Clearing his throat, he placed three more photos of her and Jimmy in front of her, but Catherine refused to even look at them. She wanted to tell him that this was a waste of time, she wasn't going to tell them anything, and that she kindly wished to be escorted back to her cell to wait out the rest of the hours until her mandated release.

Realizing the photographic evidence of her relationship with Jimmy wasn't going to shake Catherine, the detective tried to convince her that he was her savior. He told her that he understood why she had been attracted to the IRA and Jimmy in the first place and that even he believed there would be a unified Ireland one day. What Catherine found to be most pathetic, was when he made a point of telling her he bought his clothes and groceries from Catholic-owned stores.

"Look, the detectives ya spoke with earlier aren't as understandin' as I am. They want 'ta put ya away on serious weapons charges. I can help ya; I just need ya 'ta tell me about Jimmy."

Again, Catherine declined to give him what he wanted. She was proud of herself for holding up as well as she had been. A part of her had been worried she'd experience the same plight as her father, but thankfully those days seemed to be in the past.

The detective decided to go with a new plan. "Ya know, Jimmy already fingered ya as the one who makes the exchange of weapons and explosives used in operations."

Catherine was surprised she managed not to flat-out laugh in his face. Jimmy was many things—a spiteful bastard, a heartless and conniving prick—but, there was one thing he was not. A tout. Never in a million years would he point the finger at another comrade, even if it meant saving his own ass. That was a quality he possessed that Catherine would forever admire, no matter how much she hated him.

The last scheme, Catherine didn't see coming. He slid an immunity agreement in front of her.

"I bet ya have enough info ta bring down not only the Belfast IRA but also the lads in South Armagh. Remember how depressed ya got after Joseph McShane was killed? You gave the green-light for an operation that killed an innocent Catholic man from Andersontown, Catherine. I'm sure ya never would have gone forth with it, had the intelligence you were given been accurate. It seems like ye've still gotta heart. If ya take the deal, we can make sure the bastards who murdered McShane, and Jimmy, who is directly responsible for those guns being in the hands of the Provo's, to begin with, are brought ta justice. Sign the immunity deal, Catherine; don't be compliant in this violence anymore. Do what's right. Ya won't have ta worry about retaliation from Jimmy or the IRA."

About a million and one thoughts were running through Catherine's head. She readjusted herself in the uncomfortable metal chair, rubbing her exhausted eyes. There wasn't a single lie that spilled from the detective's mouth. Six months before leaving for Malta to meet with the underboss of the Irish-American mob in Boston, Catherine had in fact given the thumbs up for an operation that had been planned using faulty intelligence. An Andersontown unit had been so convinced a man named Joseph McShane had been acting as an informer for the PSNI. The only piece of solid evidence the unit had, was the car McShane was seen driving, and as it would turn out, he had simply borrowed it from his cousin. Instead of killing the true informant, McShane was murdered in vain by the IRA. Given that it was the first operation Catherine had taken charge of as quartermaster, she immediately resigned from her freshly appointed post and went back into the lucrative game of trafficking. The guilt of her actions had consumed her like none other, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to forgive herself for creating a widow with three children.

The detective tried pushing a pen into her hand. "Why protect a man who's tryin' ta ruin yer life wit' an IRA court-martial? If the Army Council finds ya guilty, they'll kill ya, Catherine. If ya sign this immunity, we'll only charge ya wit' IRA membership an' ye'll get a suspended sentence. Then, ya can live a nice quiet life in the Republic or even the United States."

Hearing the detective make reference to the depression she had fallen into and her court-martial, told Catherine one thing: someone close to her was talking.

She wasn't tempted in the slightest to sign that document, even with the suspicion of someone ratting on her. But, the detective became hopeful when she grabbed the pen. Instead of signing her name on the signature line, she wrote "fuck off," in all capital letters and chucked the pen across the room.

While the detective had tried to pressure her into taking the deal right then and there, he warned her that in thirty-six hours the agreement would be withdrawn, and she'd be formally charged with IRA membership, conspiracy to commit terrorist acts, and arms trafficking. Even as she stared right down the barrel at two consecutive life-sentences, Catherine held it together. She wasn't exactly sure whether or not it was all a bluff. If they needed her to become a tout against Jimmy in order to get charges to stick to him, then Catherine was certain they had hardly anything on her. The way she saw it, someone had turned on her and the detectives were using what little information they had to leverage a deal with her. At the end of the day, Catherine was nothing in the grand scheme of things in the IRA. She may have been a small fish in the vast tank, but she knew exactly why she specifically had been targeted. They figured the fear of spending the rest of her life behind bars would be enough to scare the disdained concubine into flipping on her lover. Catherine wasn't sure just how long the PSNI or MI5 had been on her tail, but there was one thing they'd never learn about her from all those photographs and tapped phone calls. Her loyalty to the cause was deeply rooted, and because of that, it didn't matter to Catherine just how much she loathed Jimmy at the moment. As long as Jimmy was her comrade, she'd never turn on him, just as she knew he'd never turn on her.

Breaking for lunch, the detectives led Catherine back to her cell. With that damn light constantly on, there was zero chance of her even catching a minute of sleep. It also didn't help that the mattress was no thicker than a cotton ball, and the sheet and pillowcase were made of tissue paper. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, Catherine attempted to digest everything that had been said to her throughout the day. Releasing her hair from the tight braids it was still in, she shook out the faux-beach waves, finally feeling the full force of her headache. She felt beyond disgusting and couldn't wait to get home so she could scrub off the Musgrave Police Station.

This was the first time she had to face the real possibility of an informer being in the ranks. Those who spilled secrets on their comrades met a death that would make even the Devil shake his head, so doing the deed to meet that fate seemed mind-boggling to Catherine. She was a different breed though, the idea of selling out the men she had pledged to stand beside and die with made her stomach turn. Nothing made her feel more betrayed than having her life turned upside down by a coward who was too weak to face whatever jail time lay ahead of them. Most men turned informant because they were ashamed of having been caught, and were looking for an easy way out. Catherine could remember how Jimmy had reassured her that being arrested and charged was nothing to be ashamed of. It had been drilled into her head that she was a part of a revolutionary Army, and her arrest was nothing more than the enemy capturing her. The cause she fought was a just one, and it was only a matter of time before she ended up there.

Hearing heavy footsteps on the concrete floor had Catherine scooching herself into the corner of her bed. She had almost reached the point of sleep deprivation and the idea of sitting through another grueling interrogation wore on her last nerve. For over twelve hours, she hadn't verbalized a single word, and she was beginning to forget what her own voice sounded like. She was determined the survive the next thirty-six hours, as the PSNI could legally hold her for only two days before either releasing or charging her.

Relief washed over her when she saw those footsteps belonged to an officer who had escorted Jimmy back to his cell. Catherine still hated him, but that didn't stop her from feeling sorry for him. He looked far more exhausted than she was and considering he was the big fish and direct link to the Army Council, Catherine couldn't even begin to imagine just how awful his interrogation was compared to hers. As Jimmy stood unruffled, waiting for the officer to open the cell door, the overhead light caught the left side of his face, illuminating a dark crescent bruise along his eye socket and cheek. His face was stained with a crimson tinge, and dried blood crusted his nostrils and the corners of his mouth.

At the sight of him, Catherine covered her mouth with both hands. Seeing him disheveled, beat up, and yet not even the slightest unnerved, reminded Catherine to stay strong. There was no lie that a part of her was self-satisfied as Jimmy deserved every minute of that beat down, but the other part of her still ached. She still despised the idea of him being subjected to pain for no other reason than for information to be extracted. Catherine wanted to ask him if he was okay, however, when she opened her mouth, she couldn't find any words. She wished she could run over to him and wipe the blood from his face, not because she cared about him, but because she had a soft spot for people in distress. At least, that's what she told herself.

As the officer closed the door, Jimmy took a seat on the edge of the bed. He grabbed the corner of the sheet and spat on it, before using it to blot his face clean. Catherine hugged her legs against her chest and never once took her eyes off him. Remembering where she was, she stopped herself from asking Jimmy what he had been questioned about. The officer's accusation of her sloppiness on the bombing operation at the police training college wasn't true, and she was hoping he could shed some light on how the PSNI managed to link the two other bombings directly to her.

When the footsteps faded down the corridor, Jimmy caught Catherine by surprise when he directly asked her a question.

"Do ya think the pipes back home are leakin'?"

Her heart skipped a beat. "Aye. Better call a plumber."


	19. Home Sweet Home

Catherine was on the verge of tears, once again finding herself in the sweltering interrogation room. The effects of sleep deprivation had long since kicked in and the longer the detectives screamed in her face, the more agitated she became. Her concentration was shot, as was her ability to critically think. After thirty hours of threats and insults, Catherine had found herself in the throes of an anxiety attack when the first team of detectives terrorized her with the promise of having Olivia framed as a longtime informant. Somehow, she still managed to keep her silence. She had made this far, there was no way she was going to allow herself to crack now.

Again, and again, Catherine was asked to accept the immunity deal or be charged. A detective held out his hand to Catherine to show her his watch, telling her she had less than a minute to sign it. "Thirty-seconds, Catherine. Sign the deal; take it."

He pushed the piece of paper in front of her and she grabbed it, ripping it in half. They told her that her decision to deny their help wasn't in her best interest. They told her she wasn't going to be walking out of the jail anytime soon and that the next time she felt the wind in her hair would be during recreation time in a prison yard.

Back in her cell, Catherine sat on the floor with her back resting against the edge of the bed. Jimmy was in his cell too, lying on his side in the bed. He couldn't take his eyes off Catherine. He tried to figure out what was going on inside that distressed head of hers. In the special forces, Jimmy had been trained on how to deflect the very tactics that were being used against Catherine. Whereas he simply laughed in the detective's faces, knowing nothing they said held substance, Catherine was beginning to feel the weight of their words. Looking at her as she sat on the floor of the grimy cell, he noticed how her fist was clenched and her thumb rubbed against her forefinger. In the absence of her rosary beads, that didn't stop Catherine from finding comfort in the Hail Mary's she silently mouthed to herself.

He desperately wished he could comfort her, remind her that her strength never ceased to amaze him and it wouldn't be much longer until she was back in the comfort of her own bed. There was also the small issue of an informant; he would personally see to it that the tout was found and properly taken care of. He never wanted to witness her going through this brutal experience ever again.

The young and attractive detective who had first offered Catherine immunity appeared in front of her cell, forcing Jimmy to straighten up. He found it slightly suspicious that the detective was there alone, and Jimmy didn't like the way he leaned against the bars, trying to appear less threatening, as if he and Catherine had developed some sort of camaraderie. It was common sense to Jimmy that they had offered Catherine a chance to cooperate. Pride overtook him when he realized she had turned down the offer because now they were going for the last play in the interrogation handbook. With absolutely no solid evidence beside hearsay from an informant, the PSNI couldn't go forth with the charges they had threatened her with. So now, in front of Jimmy, it was time to attempt to set her up like one who had possibly dumped IRA secrets during her tenure. Luckily for Catherine, Jimmy knew better and saw right through the sad endeavor.

Keeping the same soft spirit, he had managed for almost forty-hours, the detective told Catherine that even though she had declined the immunity, he had worked extremely hard to not only convince his superiors not to charge her but also secure an early release. From the inside pocket of his suit jacket, he pulled out a business card and handed it to her through the bars. He said that the number on the back was to his direct line and that he was prepared to meet with her outside of Belfast, well away from anywhere she could be recognized.

She physically recoiled when he mentioned he'd like to take her out for a drink, or even dinner one night. She wouldn't have to say much, he assured her, just let them know if they were on the right track with certain men under their suspicions, or if she had come across anything that the PSNI would be interested in. To be polite and not do anything stupid to jeopardize her going home, Catherine took the card. Before leaving her, the detective made a snide remark about how she was too good to be associating with IRA thugs, how she shouldn't have turned down her acceptance to Queen's University, and that it wasn't too late for her to get her life back on track.

Catherine said nothing, not interested in his lecture.

When he left the cellblock, Catherine had every intention of ripping up the card up. She rolled her eyes when she saw he had handwritten his name and number on the cardstock. Turning it over, she noticed it was a business card for the Sinn Fein office which sat several hundred feet down the road from her parent's home. There were several numbers on it, one in particular which had caught Catherine's eye. She turned the card over again, her heart nearly jumping out of her chest when she realized the detective's name and number matched the one that was already printed on the card. Instead of tearing it up, Catherine decided to keep it, slipping it into the back pocket of her jeans. Surely, her commander and superior officers would be interested to have a look at it.

* * *

While being processed out, Catherine vehemently declined an officer's proposal to drive her home. It was almost eleven o'clock at night but she didn't want to be in the presence of any more officers.

Considering her purse and wallet were still at home, Catherine had no other choice but to walk. That didn't matter to her anyway, as the cool breeze against her skin had never felt so welcoming before. There had been a point during her interrogation when Catherine was beginning to wonder if the detectives were speaking the truth and she'd never taste freedom again.

Walking along the A501, she got to thinking. In the event that she was actually caught and charged because of her own fuck-up, Catherine would happily serve her time. The idea of a tout destroying her life made her angrier than she could ever remember being. A small part of her was hoping that after the events of the last two days, Jimmy would lift her suspension on his own. That way, she could get right to work in figuring out who had screwed them over.

Much to her pleasure, Catherine found Patrick had left the front door unlocked just in case of her arrival. When she walked in, the pungent aroma of the spicy potpourri her mother insisted on keeping in the living had never smelt so good. Although she was beyond exhausted and the thought of climbing the flight of stairs defeated her, Catherine reminded herself that upstairs awaited a hot shower and cool, comfortable bed. Her wobbly and sore legs didn't want to make the journey, but once she was in the bathroom, Catherine immediately turned the taps on for a shower. She stripped from her clothes, throwing them into the wastebasket under the sink instead of the laundry basket. Only when the mirror was completely steamed up did Catherine finally step under the scolding spray. She reached for her washcloth and Patrick's bottle of body wash.

Squirting nearly half the bottles contents into the washcloth, Catherine scrubbed herself nearly raw. She wanted to make sure not even the faintest odor of the jail could be traced on her skin, ready to move past it all and just focus on getting back to her normal life.

Stepping out, half-an-hour later, her skin was pink, looking as if she had spent the entire day out in the sun. As she wrapped a clean towel around her, Catherine was hit with a forceful wave of nausea that brought her to her knees. After two days of no food, the only that came up was acid and the little bit of water she agreed to ingest. Nose and throat stinging, tears leaking from the corner of her eyes, Catherine backed up against the wall and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. As she flushed the toilet, she attributed it to her severe lack of sustenance and high anxiety. Getting sick didn't seem out of the ordinary for Catherine, as her body had always been rather sensitive to high levels of stress.

Pulling herself off the floor, she brushed her teeth. Before leaving the bathroom, Catherine remembered the business card that was still in the pocket of her trashed jeans, so she retrieved it, holding it tight in her hand. In the hallway, Liam nearly scared Catherine half to death as he was standing only inches from the bathroom door when she pushed it open. He wasted no time in pulling his sister in for a hug, thankful his prayers had been answered.

"How does it feel ta be a common criminal, jus' like the rest of us?" Liam joked.

Catherine was the last O'Toole to have ever been arrested. In their family, it seemed as though it was a rite of passage. Even Olivia had been arrested during her teenage years for suspicion of IRA membership.

She smiled, happy to see the exuberant aura that normally filled the house wasn't gone. They laughed and made jokes about the predicaments they found themselves in, because if they didn't, they'd cry, and being melancholy never seemed to make life any easier.

"Brilliant. Now I've got street credit." Catherine snickered. "But, in all seriousness, what in the bloody hell are ya doin' here? Please tell me ya didn't leave Shauna all alone wit' wee Erin this whole time."

Liam shook his head, assuring he hadn't left his wife and newborn baby home alone for the last two days. He had just arrived as he had planned to head down to the jail with Patrick to pick her up around three in the morning, but she had been released early.

"What did they wanna know?" He asked.

Clutching the business card a little tighter and out of Liam's view, Catherine shifted uncomfortably. He was her link to the intelligence that was collected for the PSNI and MI5, and the last time she asked, Liam, told her she was in the clear. If Catherine and Jimmy were at the top of the list to rounded up, he would have told them to get out of dodge for a while. For her, it was too much of a coincidence that it didn't happen until Jimmy was home from California.

Arresting them together seemed counterproductive to her. If they wanted her to flip on Jimmy, it would have been in their best interest to do it when he was gone, and not sitting across from her. Catherine wondered if Liam had intentionally lied to her, or if his sources lied to him.

The thoughts that flooded her mind, made Catherine feel like a terrible person. She knew Liam was struggling financially, more now than ever with a two-month-old baby at home. His job with the IRA didn't bring in much cash, and he was having a difficult time finding employment with a conviction for IRA membership on his record. The money the PSNI offered to informants was extremely tempting.

Liam was her eldest brother. When she was a child he would be the one who rubbed her back until she fell asleep again after a nightmare. He taught her how to rollerblade, and pelt rocks with a slingshot at British soldiers when they were on patrol. The information the detectives had only could have come from someone close to her. Catherine refused to acknowledge the likelihood of Liam being the tout until she was punched in the face with the mounting evidence. Until that day, she decided to stick with simple answers.

"Ya know I can't say anythin' until I go through my debriefin'."

Liam nodded sympathetically, accepting the fact Catherine chose to stick to protocol. All volunteers, no matter the rank, were expected to meet with a security team at a safe house to discuss their interrogation. This was done to make sure they hadn't divulged any information to the police.

"Speakin' of which, Darragh's gonna be here soon ta talk wit' ya about that, so get dressed. Da's downstairs wit' food."

Not wasting any time, Catherine dressed. In the kitchen she found Patrick and Liam talking quietly to one another. When she cleared her throat, making her presence know, they stopped. Patrick tossed his half-burnt cigarette into the ashtray and jumped up from the table. He engulfed Catherine into a tight hug, never wanting to let her go. Watching her being carted off to jail was one of the few times in his life where Patrick had been filled with genuine fearfulness. Of course, it was difficult for the father to watch his eldest son go through the court system when he was charged, and it never got any easier to deal with the concern that came along with Brien's occasional arrest due to his doings with the Sons of Anarchy. Catherine was a different story for Patrick; she had the most of lose.

These last two days had been hell for Patrick, finding himself crawling into a bottle of whiskey as he blamed himself for leading Catherine to the sacrificial altar of the Irish Republican Army. If he had called it quits after prison, the influence never would have been around her.

Wrapping her arms Patrick, Catherine's fingers curled into the material of his shirt until her knuckles turned white. She filled with a familiar warmth of safety and tranquility as she nuzzled her face into his chest. Patrick's hands tangled in her damp hair as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. Catherine took a deep breath, expecting to be greeted with Patrick's sharp clean, and tobacco scent. Her soul crushed when she caught a whiff of Bushmills. She realized she'd have to be the one who broke the news to Olivia that he was drinking again.

Taking her cheeks in large hands, Patrick lifted Catherine's head off his chest. He examined her closely under the soft light in the kitchen, making sure she hadn't come home with a single scratch on her. For Jimmy, he had been wishing for the exact opposite, hoping like hell the officers hadn't been afraid to knock him around a bit.

"None of those fuckers tried ta cop'a feel durin' yer search, did they?" Patrick sternly inquired.

"No," Catherine shook her head. "They got in me face, but never touched me. Jimmy, on the other hand, …not so lucky."

Liam brought his can of beer to his mouth to hid his chuckle. It was safe to say both Patrick and Liam didn't have much concern over Jimmy's wellbeing in jail. They were both hoping the PSNI had enough to charge him, or at the very least hold him for the next five days. Catherine, on the other hand, couldn't shake Jimmy from her thoughts. She felt bad that she had been released early when she was just as guilty of the accused crimes as he was. Years ago, Jimmy had told Catherine he was more than prepared for a lengthy prison sentence, but Catherine never wanted to see that day come. In the eyes of many, he was the backbone of the cause, keeping them focused on why they continued to fight even after the Belfast Agreement had been ratified.

A knock at the back door brought them back to reality. Catherine wiggled from Patrick's hands, opting to be the one to open the door for her commander. Letting Darragh in, she joked about whether or not he was regretting his decision to bring her into his unit. A small flame of hope reignited within in when he said there was no one else in Belfast he'd be honored to work beside. Liam took that response a little too personally, to which Darragh shot back by saying:

"When ye can safely transport a few million quid worth of guns an' explosives through international borders, then I'll say the same of ye."

That seemed to shut Liam up. Patrick only shook his head at his sensitive son.

Catherine tried to stay focused on the conversation at hand, but the heavy smell of greasy, fried fish in the air made her stomach roll. As Darragh and Patrick squabbled over which safe house Catherine would be brought to for her debriefing, she got up and fetched a cup of ginger tea. She knew she'd feel better after a restful sleep and decent meal.

"Ya got a problem goin' 'ta Dundalk?" Patrick asked.

She had zoned out as she sipped her tea, and only brought her attention back to Patrick when he snapped his fingers in her face. He asked again and she shook her head. Getting out of Ulster seemed like a dream come true. No way in hell was she going to protest a few days in the Republic.

A little R&R was exactly what the doctor ordered.


	20. Good Girl From Belfast

Nestled away in a quiet housing estate in Dundalk, Ireland, Catherine was enjoying time away from her responsibilities back home. She had been in the Republic for only a few days, but nonetheless, they had been the most relaxing days she could remember having. Several other lads from all across Ulster were there. Most of them hailing from Crossmaglen, as they too experienced a wave of arrests. No one over the age of twenty-five occupied the home.

Catherine was growing to enjoy the company of the men she was forced to board with. They constantly kept her laughing, which helped ease the stress. She had no idea this world even existed within the IRA and found herself wondering if her experience was any different from Patrick's. It wasn't totally a vacation; they were still kept in the loop of what was going on in the North. On one occasion, Catherine had defied her orders and helped plan an operation with the commanders from South Armagh.

More than anything, though, Catherine was enjoying her time away from being under the microscope of Jimmy O'Phelan.

Not surprisingly, it turned out to be another gloomy night that forced the vagabonds to keep indoors. Running out of activities to ward off the inevitable cabin fever, they decided to dedicate that night to a poker tournament. Beer and adrenaline flowed through the veins of the eight people. The air was thick and hot, swirls of smoke floating in wisps above their heads.

"I can't believe ya blokes have special poker visors."

Seamus Doherty looked up at Catherine. A cigarette dangled from his lips and a plastic green visor covered his forehead. An emerald tint was cast upon his face, thanks to the glow of the soft light hanging over the table. He was a designated gunman from a unit in Belfast.

"It's a rare and special occasion when we play poker." Seamus' speech was slightly slurred from the numerous beers he had consumed. His expression was serious. "It's necessary we use the proper props ta celebrate the said occasion."

"Yer full'a shite, Doherty. Youse guys play all the fuckin' time when yer here." A lad from Newry cut in.

Catherine narrowed her eyes at Seamus, taking a sip from her beer can. "Is that true?"

He shrugged. "We run a lot of operations."

She chuckled as Seamus dealt out a fresh hand of cards. As they each picked up the cards and rearranged them, Catherine shuttered at the idea of spending a majority of her time in safe houses. That was particularly why she enjoyed staying out of the roles that would bring the most attention to her. After every operation, anyone who had either pulled a trigger or placed a bomb was forced to spend at least a week in the Republic.

There had only been a handful of times in her life when Catherine played poker, but this wasn't the typical tournament. With about forty dollars between the eight of them and a few drinks in their systems, they had decided to keep things interesting by playing strip poker. No one had protested. So, there they were, sitting at the table with no shirts on. Catherine was thankful she had remembered to put on a cute bra that morning.

Small beads of sweat formed along the back of her neck when she realized she had terrible cards. Things could be worse for her, as two of the South Armagh lads sitting across from her were only in their briefs.

When Doherty flashed a smile and wiggled his eyebrows, Catherine knew she was in trouble.

"In honor of Her Majesty the Queen…a royal flush."

Leaning over the table to get a better look at his cards, Catherine mouthed a "fuck," as she tossed her's down. She only had a pair of three's.

"O'Toole!" The seven men cheered in unison, thrilled they were about to get a once-in-a-lifetime glimpse of her in only her underwear.

Catherine's cheeks burned crimson. She had always been a modest person, feeling a little too far out of her comfort zone just sitting there in her jeans and bra. A part of her thought about just calling it a night and heading to bed. Since her release from jail, she was still feeling queasy from whatever germs she had picked up at Musgrave.

Remembering all the fun she had been having since she left Belfast, Catherine decided to throw her hands up and say fuck it. Jimmy wasn't there to criticize her for wanting to let loose and act her age—this was her time. As she stood up from her chair, the kitchen erupted into cheers and cat-calls. The whistles as she went for the button on her jeans had her blushing brighter than a stop sign. Her hands trembled as she pulled down the zipper. As shy as she was and for badly she wanted to run upstairs and hide, Catherine enjoyed breaking her traditional mold. Sliding the tight denim down her thick thighs, it felt insanely liberating for Catherine to be free from her jeans.

"Hang on jus' a second," one of the South Armagh lads called out. "Does the good girl from Belfast have a tattoo on her arse?"

Draping her jeans over the back of her chair, Catherine hid her face in her hands. She did, in fact, have a newly added tattoo that was the result of a very drunken night with Brien. It now being visible for all the lads to see was her punishment for deciding to wear panties that barely covered her ass. There was absolutely no way Catherine was going to get out of this mess, and she knew it. Admitting defeat, Catherine turned around to show them the simple and small, black heart inked on the upper, outside portion of her right ass-cheek.

"Ye've got a little more bad girl in ya than we all thought."

She wasn't sure why but hearing that her reputation was that of the goodie-good girl slightly stung. It wasn't that she feared to step outside of the norms, she just didn't see reasons why she should.

Just as she was about to open her mouth and make a jab at that statement, she was interrupted with the back door opening. Her heart raced and skipping several beats when she saw who walked through the door.

Jimmy instantly noticed the color drain from Catherine's face when she met his gaze. All of the laughing and teasing came to an abrupt end when Fiona closed the door behind them. They were soaked from the pouring rain, not in the mood to deal with the antics of twenty-somethings. As if she wasn't embarrassed enough, Catherine was downright humiliated when she saw Jimmy furrow his brow and curl his lip in disgust at her standing in the kitchen in only her bra and panties. Fiona covered her mouth with her hand, averting her eyes from the young, half-naked men circled around the table. They all suddenly felt like children, having been caught by their parents doing something wrong.

The last thing any of them had been expecting was for Jimmy O to drop in for the night. Catherine knew Jimmy and Fiona were also in the Republic, but she had no idea the safe house in Dundalk would be on their itinerary.

Not even dropping the two duffle bags slung over his shoulders, Jimmy headed to the stairs. Before heading up, he turned his attention to Catherine, seemingly ignoring what he had walked in on. "Get ta bed; got early meetings tomorrow. I'm gonna jump in the shower. Ya comin' Fi?'

Ready to burst into tears, Catherine grabbed her pants and put them back on. As she searched for her shirt, she overheard Fiona tell Jimmy she wanted tea first. Jimmy headed up the stairs, Fiona plugged in the electric kettle, while the men scrambled to clean up the cards and beer cans.

The game was over.

Catherine was trying to sneak past all of them unnoticed, hoping she could get to bed without any incident. She was relieved to hear that she had an early meeting in the morning, as that meant there was no more lollygagging with her debriefing with the Security Unit. The business card she had been given by the detective at Musgrave was burning a hole in her bag, and she was getting anxious to talk with them about it.

Attempting to make her way up the stairs, while the guys headed into the living room, Fiona stopped Catherine.

"Sit down," she instructed.

Catherine did just as she was told. Feeling her nerves start to rattle, Catherine lit a cigarette.

Placing a mug of tea in front of Catherine, Fiona watched her closely. Her heart did a nose-dive when Catherine picked up the mug then quickly set it down, repugnance washing over Catherine's face.

Fiona had seen the signs the first time she sat down with Catherine, nearly a week before. Her breasts were swollen, her face and belly were bloated. Her mood was all over the place; happy and laughing one moment, then angry or weeping the next. Not to mention her now sensitive stomach as of late.

Desperately, she wanted to ignore it. Praying with all her might that it wasn't true and that the combination of exhaustion and stress was finally taking a toll on the young woman. On the other hand, Fiona knew she'd only be making a fool of herself if she turned the other cheek.

Taking a sip of her tea, she set it down on the saucer, not allowing her gaze to divert from Catherine. Then, she asked the hardest she's ever had to mutter:

"How far along are ya?"

Catherine froze. Fiona noticed the perplexity that contorted her face as she tried to digest those five words. Blowing out a cloud of smoke, Catherine examined her cigarette for a moment, before quickly crushing it in the overflowing ashtray.

"I've no idea what yer talkin' about."

For a split second, Fiona wanted to reach across the table and slap Catherine across the face. She knew exactly what was being asked of her. She was deliberately ignoring the question.

Catherine had noticed the subtle changes in her body, but she thought very little of it. Stress had completely swallowed her life to the point she didn't find it odd that suddenly she couldn't remember the last time she had a period. Slight weight gain wasn't unusual either, as greasy food was what she turned to for comfort. As for the rushing waves of nausea, Catherine convinced herself she had picked up a bug from the jail.

Nonetheless, she knew her reasons were beyond flawed. This was just a reality she was hoping to avoid until she could get her life back on track. Excusing herself from the table, she dashed upstairs ready to brush her teeth and call it a night.

Knowing full well that Jimmy was still in the bathroom, Catherine didn't care and she burst in any way.

"Oi!" He called out, quickly covering himself below the waist with his towel. "The hell do ya think yer doin'?"

Brushing off his annoyed tone, Catherine went about her business. Grabbing her toothbrush, she spread on a glob of mint paste and got to work. Jimmy finished drying off, wrapping the towel loosely on his hips. All the while, Catherine refused to look at him, even in the mirror.

"Caitie," he said, softly.

He was hopeless to get her to speak to him again, but Jimmy was met with a hostility he hadn't seen coming. When he placed his hand on her shoulder, Catherine aggressively shoved Jimmy away, tossing her toothbrush in the sink. She wasn't in the mood for him to pretend he wanted to make things better again.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!"

It wasn't ideal, though, she was speaking to him.

He understood why she was upset with him and Catherine had every right. However, if their grievances weren't aired now, they never would be. Catherine was the person Jimmy loved far too much to allow their relationship to go up in searing flames of resentment. When he saw her dart for the door handle, Jimmy squeezed himself in front of the door to bar her exit.

Catherine took a deep breath, obviously trying to keep her temper at bay. Getting into it with Jimmy was the last thing she wanted to do, considering she already had enough on her plate. She worried that if she said the wrong thing, he would only use it at her debriefing as an excuse to keep her from doing her job for even longer. Also, with his significant other just downstairs, she didn't want Fiona to overhear her and Jimmy arguing about their relationship woes.

Belfast didn't seem so bad after all.

"Please, get out of my way." Catherine calmly requested.

When Jimmy didn't budge, she asked again, this time dropping the "please."

"Hear me out, a chuisle,"

Catherine snapped at the sound of her childhood nickname rolling off Jimmy's tongue. He had lost the right to call her that the night he sucker punched her, twice, in the face. Never again did she want to hear him say that.

Without thinking, Catherine backhanded him. Nor could she control the tears that flooded down her cheeks. "Don't ever fuckin' call me that again."

The sting of her having cracked him reverberated throughout Jimmy's entire face. He knew he deserved it, and the faded bruises on her neck were his reminder to just let it go. Every single night for the last two weeks, Jimmy prayed hard for the strength to never fly into a rage around her again.

Watching her chest heavily rise and fall, he was having a hard time figuring out what was going on in her head. Ever since he had her brought up on court-martial charges, Jimmy could see she was falling apart.

"I get that yer cross, Caitie, but,"

She backhanded him again. This time, it stung both of them a little more.

"Hell was that about?" He whined, rubbing his reddened cheek.

Instead of answering him, Catherine responded with another slap. He had so badly tormented her both emotionally and physically, that watching Jimmy recoil in pain brought on a catharsis for Catherine. So, she hit him again, and again Jimmy flinched.

"How do ye fuckin' like it?" Catherine cried.

Balling her hand into a fist, she purposely popped Jimmy near his left eye. The bruise he had been left with after his trip to Musgrave was still fresh, and when her fist collided with his injury, it sent bolts of lightning through his brain.

"Motherfucker!" He yelled, reaching for her wrists.

Catherine surrendered and let Jimmy pin her arms on the door above her head. To some extent, she had scared herself. Finding slight pleasure in physically hurting others wasn't something Catherine had expected to experience. But, there was no doubting that nothing felt better than knocking Jimmy around. His fingers bit painfully into her wrists and his body was uncomfortably close to her. The only sound that filled the stuffy bathroom was their labored breathing and Catherine's sniffles.

Having Jimmy that close caused Catherine to squirm. She tried to maneuver out of his grip, but Jimmy could tell she wasn't fighting as hard as she could be. Either she wanted to be there with him and she didn't want to fully admit it, or she simply didn't have the strength to struggle. Jimmy could remember how fatigued and under the weather she had looked while they were in jail. Finally getting a good look at her for the first time since he arrived, he knew in his heart something wasn't right with her.

"I'm so fuckin' sorry fer what I did 'ta ya." Jimmy broke the silence.

It irritated him that Catherine wouldn't meet his gaze. She had no intention of hearing anything he had to say, as Catherine was sure it would be nothing more than empty promises of change and a better life. She was tired of constantly being let down by Jimmy, it was time for her to take charge of her own life. Waiting for a man to make her happy would get her nowhere.

When Catherine still refused to look at him, even after he told her to, Jimmy released her wrists and grabbed her face. Catherine jerked her head from side-to-side, pounded her fists on his chest, but none of that worked to get her free. To keep her still, Jimmy pressed his body flush against her.

"I know there's absolutely no excuse fer what I did. Believe me, I'm a fuckin' wreck without ya. There's no one else in this world that keeps me grounded the way ye've always had. I need ya by my side; I've always needed ya."

Catherine became frustrated that she couldn't control her emotions. She wanted to remain placid, allow him to say what he needed to in order to make himself feel better, so she could just get on with her night. Instead, she allowed his words to saturate her, and it wasn't long before the tears started again. Biting her lip, Catherine began to wither beneath him. It broke Jimmy's heart to see that the damage he caused may not be repairable after all. Resting his forehead on hers, he brushed their noses. Catherine's head was screaming at her to get out of his stronghold by any means necessary, but her body betrayed her and began to slightly relax.

"Please, forgive me, a chuisle."

He knew he was taking a chance by calling her that while her hands were free, but for Jimmy, it was a risk worth taking. There was no possible way he would ever be able to stop calling her that. Much to his relief, Catherine didn't hit him. She gripped his forearms.

"I can't," she croaked.

"Why? Why can't ya?" Jimmy could feel his own tears bubbling in the corners of his eyes. "I can lose everythin' in this world, expect fer ye."

Catherine moved her eyes up just in time to catch a glimpse of the tears skating down his cheeks. This time, she used her thumb to wipe them away for him, just as Jimmy had wiped hers away countless times. The unconditional love would always keep them connected, but it was the sex and romance that complicated everything. In a different time, Catherine knew her and Jimmy would have been able to be together. While she was more willing to get go of him and hopefully bring peace back into their lives, Jimmy wasn't as easy-going. He was a stubborn man, who got whatever he wanted when he wanted it. And, Jimmy wanted Catherine now, regardless of the hell, it would bring upon the two of them. As long as he had her by his side or in his arms, his life seemed calm.

"Because what yer doin' is not only self-destructive, but yer ruinin' my life, and Fiona's. I can't forgive ya fer ruinin' my life."

Jimmy truly thought he wasn't ruining Catherine's life by having her go before a court-martial. In his mind, he was making her a stronger soldier, a smarter soldier, who wouldn't make rookie mistakes. While he had never expected for her to spend time in jail, Jimmy wanted to tell her that was only a taste of what was to come if she continued to play fast-and-loose with the men in the Sons of Anarchy.

He deflected most of what she said, not wanting to admit that he was the expert of self-destruction. Kissing her forehead, her cheeks, the bridge of her nose, Jimmy was surprised when Catherine didn't try to stop him. "Ye know we were meant ta be together, Catherine. Look at everythin' we've gone through, and yet, here we are. We love each other an' that's all that matters."

Defeated, Catherine gave in. When his lips crashed upon hers, she dropped her hands from his forearms so she could tangle her fingers in his chocolate locks. The feeling of her warm mouth sealed around his ignited a firestorm of lust within Jimmy. A streak of lightning flashed in the midnight sky, just seconds before a clap of thunder rumbled through Dundalk. The startling noise caused Jimmy to wrap his arms tighter around Catherine, as her fingers gripped the roots of his hair.

Their tongues tangled and fought for control as the sky began to dump buckets of rain. Catherine untangled one hand from his hair and rested her fingers on the hem of the towel on his waist. Jimmy playfully ran his tongue along the roof of her mouth, tickling her. Just as she was about to pull his towel off, a knock at the door stopped them. Jimmy muttered a cluster of four-letter words as he broke the kiss, resting his cheek against her temple.

"Jimmy!" Catherine recognized the voice belonging to Seamus Doherty. "One of the commanders from South Armagh is here ta speak wit ya."

Discouraged by the fact he had gotten so close to feeling Catherine snuggly wrapped around him, Jimmy tried to hide his annoyance. With Fiona there, he didn't need the lads catching wind of what he was doing with Catherine, as everyone knew they were on the outs. However, Catherine took the interruption as a reinforcing sign.

"Once I'm done wit' this shite, I promise I'll spend the night wit' ya." Jimmy kissed her knuckles.

Shaking her head, Catherine dragged her thumb along his lower lip. "Ye should be wit' Fiona tonight. If God knows we're meant ta be together, he'll find a way ta bring us closer."


	21. Hellfire and Holy Water

At an ungodly hour, well before the sun had even begun to rise, Jimmy woke Catherine from a deep slumber. It was a taxing chore for Jimmy, as Catherine had never been a morning person. With time ticking away, he somehow managed to wrestle her into the shower and had her fueled with coffee and eggs before wrangling her into the car. The drive to the safe house in the country was silent. Catherine didn't have much to say after the events of the previous night. Still grappling with her own discontent in having given in to Jimmy so easily, her plan of action was to just remain as pissed off as possible around him. Unfortunately, that was proving too difficult, especially when he had been waiting for her outside of the bathroom with a hot cup of fresh coffee. He had also made her breakfast as she got dressed and put on her makeup.

Seeing Jimmy actually make an effort to smooth over the mistakes he had made, tugged at Catherine's heartstrings. She was smart enough to understand that it would take far more than a cup of coffee, fried eggs, and warm brown bread to make up for the last few weeks. While she waited in limbo during the process of her court-martial, Catherine had promised herself that the future of their relationship rested solely on its outcome. If by some miracle she managed to get out this mess with a simple slap to the wrist, then she would be a little more willing to explore the possibility of a romantic prospect again. Moving to a different unit wasn't done out of spite on her part. Catherine genuinely thought taking some time apart would benefit both of them. For the last handful of years, they had spent far too much around one another as the line between their personal and professional relationship had become indistinct.

The sun had just begun to climb the pink and orange sky, when Jimmy pulled up to the safe house tucked away in the lush Irish countryside. Catherine hopped out of the SUV, stretching and yawning. Pocketing the keys, Jimmy rounded the front of the Range Rover to the passenger side.

"Nervous?" He asked.

"Aye, a wee bit."

Catherine knew she had nothing to be worried about, but that did very little from stopping her from feeling that way regardless. Over the years she had heard horror stories from her comrades about how brash and intimidating the men of the Internal Security Unit could be. Considering it had been just about a week since she was released from Musgrave, Catherine reminded herself that she was only on edge because the memories of her interrogation there were still fresh.

Jimmy ran his fingers through her wavy locks, tucking them behind her ear. She was wearing her glasses, which he loved, and he noticed she was wearing more makeup than usual. While it made Catherine look slightly older and more polished, Jimmy didn't like it. He adored the slight freckling she had on the bridge of her nose and cheeks during the summer months, and they were hidden under a thick layer of foundation. Wearing heavy makeup was Catherine's tell for nervousness; the more she wore, the timider she was. He wanted to try and calm her nerves before going in.

"It's not as bad as ya think." Jimmy rubbed his knuckles along the apple of her cheek. "All they're gonna do is ask ya questions about what the detectives wanted ta know an' how ya responded ta them. Just be honest."

She nodded, looking over to the house. Compared to the rest of the homes they had passed along the way, this one appeared abandoned. With its cloak-and-dagger location and the lack of upkeep, Catherine realized this place was only used when serious matters needed to be discussed. It made sense, as they were dealing with the likelihood of an informer in the ranks. Surely that would be on the agenda to talk about, as last night Jimmy had pulled Catherine into his meeting with the commander from South Armagh to discuss just that. Turns out Belfast wasn't the only place with leaky pipes, as sensitive information about the doings in Crossmaglen had been revealed to the PSNI too.

Walking up the gravel drive, Catherine didn't fight it when Jimmy interwove their fingers. Squeezing her hand for reassurance, Catherine could feel her heart rate begin to drop back down to normal. Jimmy escorted Catherine inside, where she was immediately met with six men who had their faces covered with balaclavas. They were dressed in the customary IRA ensemble of camouflage fatigues. Even their boots were shined to the point where she was sure she could see her reflection. Although that was a uniform Catherine had seen hundreds of times before—she had even seen Patrick and Jimmy dressed like that on several occasions—their militaristic air instantly made her palms begin to sweat. Both Jimmy and Catherine were unsure about what unit had been assigned to their debriefings, but their Donegal accents at least gave away a region.

"Catherine, yer wit' us."

Without a word, Catherine dropped Jimmy's hand and followed three of the masked men up the stairs. Midway through her ascent, she swiveled her head to catch one last glance at Jimmy. He gently nodded his head in reassurance. Catherine needed to know it would all be okay, and that's exactly what she got from that tiny gesture.

She found herself sitting in a darkened room, facing an empty wall. The windows had been covered with black sheets to keep out most of the natural light. Standing behind her, the three men asked her questions at rapid fire speed. Catherine knew this technique was used to see if she would stumble on or change any of her answers. She could tell they took their job rather seriously and for that, she showed them just as much respect as they were showing her.

Halfway through the quasi-interrogation, Catherine began to relax, thankful that once again her mind had overthought the situation. They asked her to divulge specific details about what had gone down, so, she told them everything. She told them about how the detectives had known about what operations she had been involved with, her court-martial, and even had photos of her and Jimmy together. She fished out the Sinn Fein business card from the back pocket of her jeans. Handing it over to them, they promised her they would pass along the information to someone at the top of the command.

Because Catherine had followed the _Green Book_ to almost a T, they said they were pleased with how she had handled herself. They did advise her to never again even write "fuck off," on any documents she was presented with. Typical PSNI tactics had been used on Catherine. She was surprised to hear that the PSNI had absolutely no intention on charging her, and were only interested in what intelligence they could drag out of her. Her early release had been a clear indicator of that. The detectives had hoped that by granting her early release, Catherine would feel more compelled to help them out, just as they had _helped _her.

At the end of her debriefing, a man with a gravelly voice—a voice that reminded her too much of Happy—asked if she was considering a turn down Damascus Road.

In light of everything she had been through over the last year, Catherine felt that was a fair question. Having spent nearly her entire life devoting herself to her Catholic faith, Catherine recognized what was being asked of her. Had she reached a point in life where a great change of ideas and beliefs was starting to take place?

In her heart, Catherine knew the answer. Spending those two days in jail had solidified her commitment to the cause more than anything. The first mistake she had ever made cost an innocent man his life, but with the guidance of a certain persuasive priest, Catherine was learning how to cope with the overwhelming guilt. Folding her hands in her lap, Catherine dipped her head and smiled as she thought back to the night she had officially been sworn into the IRA. Nowhere along the hellish road, she's been navigating has Catherine forgotten the reason why she continued to risk her life day in and day out. To her, this was a time of war, and in any war there were casualties.

Kindly, Catherine assured them she was considering no such turn.

It was nearly noon when the Internal Security Unit finished with her. Walking down the stairs to the living room so she could wait for Jimmy, Catherine's face lit up when she saw who was sitting on the sofa. Flipping absently through the basic channels on the television, Darragh was just as thrilled to see Catherine. Turning off the small screen and tossing the remote onto the coffee table, Darragh jumped up to greet her. He wrapped his strong arms around her, quickly becoming intoxicated by the heavenly milk and honey fragrance of her curls.

"What are ya doin' here?" She excitedly asked.

He smiled warmly, content to see Catherine seemed to have mellowed out some since being in Dundalk. "Just wanted ta make sure everythin' is goin' smoothly."

There was absolutely no reason for Darragh to be there, but thankfully Catherine took his answer at face value. In her experience thus far, she had come to the conclusion that he was the most hands-on commander in all of the True Army. There was one small piece of knowledge that Catherine wasn't privy to, that was that Darragh wasn't nearly as hands-on with his other subordinates as he was with Catherine. She was his exception.

The first time Catherine and Darragh had become acquainted, was when Liam brought him into the O'Toole home. With the Royal Ulster Constabulary looking for the pale lad with ebony hair and stormy gray eyes, Olivia made sure he was well fed and taken care of. Patrick had been doing a six-month stint at Magilligan prison and Catherine was sixteen. Although her relationship with Lorcan was in its early stages at the time, Catherine had found herself wildly moonstruck by the twenty-one-year-old IRA man.

To that day, she had one particularly fond memory of Darragh: they stayed up all night in the living room, smoking pot and pondering life. Darragh had passionately kissed Catherine, which almost resulted in the loss of her virginity. The only thing that stopped Darragh from taking it too far was the fact he could tell Catherine just simply wasn't ready. The next morning, he was gone and less than a year later, sentenced to ten years at Maghaberry.

Although he served less than half of his sentence, they had never once lost contact. Getting those weekly letters from Catherine had been the only thing that made his time inside tolerable. When Darragh had been released and found out Catherine became mixed-up with Jimmy, his heart broke. For the last two years at Maghaberry, Darragh began to envision a life with Catherine. He knew she would be an even more loyal and devoted wife than she was a volunteer. It broke his heart, even more, to see how Jimmy treated Catherine, and how she just followed him around like a lost puppy dog simply because she had latched on to him at such a young age.

After getting the phone call that she was ready to join his unit, Darragh saw the stars aligning for the first time in his wayward life.

Unlucky for him, Catherine had never seen Darragh in that light. To her, he was a third older brother whom she could turn to when the world around her seemed to be crumbling. She was well aware of the cliché, but Catherine knew she would always try to make things work again with Lorcan if a life with Jimmy never came to fruition. Tucked under the mattress in her bedroom at home in the Short Strand, was a small calendar where Catherine counted down the days until Lorcan was discharged from the Royal Marines. She could only hope that he would return to Belfast when it was said and done.

"Ya didn't have ta do that. Jimmy's actually here wit' me, so he told me what ta expect an' whatnot."

Darragh bit the inside of his cheek. It was painfully obvious to him that Catherine didn't know what was on the itinerary for the remainder of the day. He didn't want her there alone when she was thrown to the wolves. Sitting back down on the sofa, Darragh patted the empty cushion beside him. Catherine sat.

"Don't freak out," he placed a hand on Catherine's knee, "but, the Irish Kings are on their way here an' they're expectin' a sit-down wit' ye, Jimmy, an' some other blokes. I wanted ta be here ta make sure ye aren't treated unfairly."

All the color just about drained from her face. She turned her head to face Darragh, hoping that she'd see him smiling and that what he said was a joke. When his face remained unchanged, Catherine only then realized that he wasn't.

"Do ya know what they wanna talk about?"

"The deal wit' SAMCRO, an' the wee issue of a tout. But, I'm also here ta bring up yer court-martial an' see if we can get it all resolved now. If we can get the Kings ta see Jimmy did it out of spite, yer suspension will be lifted an' they'll toss it all together."

"Ya think that'll work?" Catherine asked, trying not to get her hopes up.

Darragh nodded, "I do. At the very least, ye'll be walkin' outta here back on active duty."

That was all Catherine needed to hear to put the pep back in her step. The last month had been such a whirlwind that she was looking forward to winning once for a change. As the ruling council for the True Army, the Irish Kings had last say on anything that went down on the street level. Luckily for her, Catherine had never once crossed any of the Kings. They said "jump," and Catherine smiled while asking, "how high?" Making Jimmy look like a sneering halfwit in front of the men who would untimely decide whether or not he became an Irish King himself wasn't at the top of her priority list, but Catherine would be damned if she were going to let this opportunity pass her by. If, in the process of pleading her case Catherine showed the Kings that Jimmy wasn't fit to sit on the council, so be it.

That was the kind of cruel irony Catherine enjoyed.

* * *

Catherine couldn't help but feel severely out of place. At the head of the table sat Brendan Roarke, with Peter Dooley, Declan Brogan, and Galen O'Shay on either side of him. With Jimmy, Donny, and the commander of the ISU occupying the rest of the chairs, that left the remaining eight of them scattered about the room. Resting her back against the wall, Catherine crossed her arms over her chest, not exactly sure who she should be focusing on. At the moment she was none-too-pleased with Jimmy—yet again—as he had purposely not told Catherine about the Kings instance on a meeting.

As they discussed the successful AK deal with SAMCRO, Catherine could feel Darragh nudge her side in a congratulatory way. She had worked extremely hard on getting that deal off the ground, and a part of her was displeased that she would no longer be overseeing its execution. Trying to see the brighter side of it, Catherine was just happy she would no longer have to do the copious traveling anymore. Staying put in Northern Ireland was just fine for her.

"Next order of business," Peter Dooley tapped his knuckles on the tabletop. "What do we know about the informant situation?"

The commander of the ISU cleared his throat and sat a little straighter in his chair. He flipped through pages of notes in a steno pad and Catherine was praying he had nothing to really give them so far. She still felt terrible that her first thought had fallen to Liam. If it was him, she wanted to be the one to figure it out first.

From the corner of her eye, Catherine could see Jimmy glancing at her. The look on his face was that of pure annoyance. Just as he decided to keep it to himself that the Kings were interested in her being part of the meeting, Catherine hadn't told Jimmy about the Sinn Fein business card. She wanted him to be caught off guard by it in front of the council, but that only backfired. Danny Murphy, the ISU's commander, had told Jimmy about it moments before they congregated for the meeting. It didn't take long for Jimmy to figure out Catherine's plan, and it left him less than thrilled.

"So far we don't have much ta go on, but there's no doubt in any of our minds that someone's talking," Danny started. "From what Jimmy and Catherine have told us, along with the blokes from South Armagh, I think it's safe ta narrow it down ta being a lad from Belfast.

At the mere mention of it being someone from Belfast, Catherine, Darragh, and Jimmy simultaneously dipped their heads in shame. They realized how bad this entire situation made them look. The only person who really had nothing to be ashamed of felt it the most. For Catherine, it didn't matter that she wasn't part of the exclusive officer's club, she felt as though she bore the same amount of blame for this happening. She had her toes dipped in about every unit in Belfast, she shouldn't have let her guard down.

Darragh cleared his throat before speaking. "All of my guys check out. I had ISU in Belfast pull bank records; no one had an influx of cash. I also spoke with them individually, along with their former OC's. Nothin' came up that raises red flags."

That seemed to satisfy the Kings. Darragh and Catherine had found it peculiar that the Brigade commander who was in charge of counterintelligence, was missing from the table. Catherine didn't mind it much though, considering her trust in him had taken a nosedive ever since the night her bedroom windows had been shot out. She now had absolutely no trust left in him, as it was partly his fault that she ended up in this situation altogether. Keeping Catherine and Jimmy out of jail was at the top of his priority list.

As the Kings spoke with Jimmy and Danny, Darragh was slowly beginning to lose his cool. While Jimmy's safety was something he couldn't care less about, making sure Catherine wouldn't be taken out while having her afternoon tea was at the forefront of his mind. He didn't like that the Kings were doing what they could to keep Jimmy out of the line of fire, all the while leaving Catherine to fend for herself.

"Has it been sorted out as ta who tried ta have Catherine shot in her bedroom last month?" Darragh asked.

Catherine peeped up at him, her eyes pleading with him to take it easy. The last thing she wanted was for him to get into a confrontation with the Kings over something she had made peace with a long time ago. She more than appreciated the gesture, but she feared he would have to face consequences over nothing.

Jimmy turned in his chair in order to get a good look at Darragh. He knew the history that was between Darragh and Catherine, and he was smart enough to realize that in asking that question, Darragh was just trying to prove something to her. While Jimmy valued the effort on the Donegal man's part, the only person he really worried about was Lorcan.

It was honestly just pure entertainment for him, as he had front row seats to watch Darragh crash and burn. Galen, however, felt a little differently than Jimmy. Knowing the type of man Darragh was, he had always admired the strong sense of loyalty and protectiveness he carried. Looking out for one's unit was the most commendable thing an officer commanding could do, and that was precisely why Galen hadn't hesitated to put Darragh in that position.

Jimmy watched with a smug smile on his face as Galen leaned back slightly in his chair. Once the Galen crossed his arms over his chest, Jimmy knew it was all over for Darragh. He was more than prepared for the fireworks and couldn't wait to watch him fold under the pressure.

"We did," Galen answered.

The only person in the room who was shocked by the outward show of regard was Jimmy. Catherine internally laughed as Jimmy's jaw almost fell through the table and right to the floor. She locked eyes with him and raised her eyebrows several times to mock him. She knew Jimmy had been waiting for Darragh to get his ass chewed out in front of her, a sick way to prove to her that she would never have a commander who was as capable as Jimmy. Truth was, Catherine had long since learned that were was genuine mutual respect between Darragh and the Council, unlike with Jimmy. Because of that—along with a laundry list of other reasons—Catherine didn't mind admitting that she had more faith in Darragh than in Jimmy.

Galan continued, this time focusing his eyes on Catherine as he spoke to Darragh. "It was a calculated effort made by the Ulster Defense Association ta take out Jimmy, and Catherine. The PSNI knew of their intentions and did absolutely nothing ta stop them, as they were looking ta eliminate our ability ta continue ta funnel cash, and make sure there was no one to properly take Jimmy's place."

Catherine nodded. It was a sufficient answer, one that completely made sense. But, she still couldn't knock that gut-feeling that something didn't seem right. None of those loyalist blokes would have known she was set to arrive home from Malta that night, and the clashes in the Short Strand made the conditions all too perfect. The only reason why Catherine dropped it, was because Patrick told her to.

"Can we please get back on track?" Brendan interjected. "There's obviously a reason why this detective gave Catherine his Sinn Fein card, and I intend ta get ta the bottom of it. I know it's a lot ta ask of ya, Catherine, but we need ya ta meet with him."

She didn't like that suggestion in the slightest. Opening her mouth to state just that, Declan quickly shut her down. "It's the perfect opportunity for ye ta gather intelligence. We already contacted a unit in the Falls ta make sure this detective, Ian Wright, has any real connections ta Sinn Fein. For all we know, it's a fake an' they wanted ta see if ye'd take the bait. If it all turns out ta be true, we'll tell ye where ta meet with him an' there'll be a team waiting ta offer backup if need be. Don't worry, ye won't end up in handcuffs. Smoking out the tout is at the top of everyone's priority list. Got it?"

For some odd reason, she couldn't help but feel like she was being set up, like how she had been set up the night the UDA supposedly shot at her. The apprehension she was feeling was palpable. She wasn't in any place to tell the Council to shove it, so Catherine knew she'd have to play every move close to the chest.

A part of her was appalled they were even asking her to do it. She figured that after spending a few days behind bars, they would be anything possible to not put her back there. Sure they promised that's not how it would end, but there was only so much one unit could do when faced with the true firepower of the PSNI. Maybe Darragh could get her out of it when it was time to actually pull the trigger.

So, Catherine simply nodded to show she understood what was expected of her.

"Does this mean ya want my unit ta take a step back on the operation ta wipe out the Irish People's Liberation Army?" inquired Darragh.

Peter and Galen told him "no," in unison, but it was Galen who took over in speaking. "This is projected to be one of our largest operations to date. We need you and your unit totally focused on the preparation. We want Catherine running basic surveillance on Shane Carrigan, then try ta get close ta him. Catherine, make him think yer unhappy with the direction we're heading and that yer interested in joining IPLA."

Now that was the news Catherine had been waiting to hear. Her face lit up brighter than a Christmas tree at the thought of being front and center in this operation. For years now, the True Army had been tolerating the actions of the Irish People's Liberation Army. The faction had split from the IRA following the passage of the Belfast Agreement, and they were more focused on bringing chaos, not peace. Between getting involved in the ecstasy trade, purposely assaulting innocent civilians in unionist neighborhoods, and attacking their former True Army comrades, the one thing both republicans and loyalists could agree on was that IPLA needed to be liquidated.

Shane Carrigan, the leader of the IPLA's Belfast Brigade, had managed to keep the True Army Council off his back until several of the men under his command were accused of gang-raping a young woman from the Shankill Road.

Catherine realized this operation couldn't be happening at a most opportune time in her life. Before the faction split, Shane had been under Jimmy's command in the Short Strand and lived less than a two-minute walk from Catherine's house on Clandeboye Drive. With Jimmy and Catherine's relationship all but over, along with her living in West Belfast once again, it wouldn't take much for Shane to believe that Catherine was looking to jump the IRA ship.

There was only one issue with Galen's proposal. Darragh knew it too, so he slightly nudged Catherine's elbow with his own, telling her this was a perfect time.

Out of respect, Catherine shot her hand up and remained even-tempered when Declan called on her to speak.

"While I do very much appreciate the appointment ta run intelligence on this extremely significant operation, I've unfortunately been suspended from active duty by my former Officer Commandin', Jimmy O'Phelan, pendin' the outcome of my court-martial. Sadly, I'm gonna have ta sit this campaign out."

Once those words left Catherine's mouth, she avoided Jimmy's gaze altogether. He was seething, but what infuriated Jimmy the most was that Catherine didn't have the courage to even look at him after trying to purposely embarrass him in front of the Irish Kings and the Donegal security unit.

By the way Darragh had bit his lip to stop himself from bursting out into laughter, Jimmy instantly put it together that he had been the one to put Catherine up to saying that. At first he had thought her moving units would be a good way for them to patch up their relationship, too, but now he saw how much Darragh instigated her immature behavior. It was also painfully obvious what Darragh was attempting to do—push Catherine away from Jimmy by any means.

If looks could kill, Catherine knew she would have dropped dead right then and there. She could feel Jimmy's eyes burning holes into her and she was surprised steam wasn't shooting out of his ears. Most people didn't take it upon themselves to intentionally piss off Jimmy O. Catherine had reached a point where she felt as though she had nothing else to lose. Being faced with the possibility of being dismissed with disgrace from the IRA had opened her eyes to an entirely new outlook. Life was changing for her regardless of the outcome of her court-martial, and she decided she was no longer going to watch life pass her by. If she wanted to make Jimmy look like a fool in front of the four men who would determine his future, then she was going to make him look like a fool.

To some extent, Catherine was trying to call his bluff. He had promised he would never lose his temper on her again, so time would only tell if he truly meant his word or not.

An intense silence blanketed the cramped room. The Kings knew she had been suspended, but never thought for one second that someone like Catherine would actually take that order to heart. They should have expected it though, considering in the four-and-a-half years she had been a volunteer, she hadn't stepped out of line. The Catherine standing before them was one they didn't recognize.

Catherine had remembered who she was, and because of that, the game changed.

Galen's mouth curled into a half-smile as he surveyed the young redhead. With the steely eyes of the South Armagh man beating down on her, Catherine could feel her hands start to prick with numbness. A cold sweat began to bead along her forehead, but she refused to break eye contact with him. The Belfast Butcher intimidated her more than any demon, and that was all the more reason for Catherine to remain unbroken. Galen respected the fact she possessed a true rebel's heart. She was hellfire and holy water. Which one you were lucky to taste, depended on how you treated her. Just like her father.

"I wonder which will get ya killed fastest—yer loyalty, or yer stubbornness?" Galen professed.

She knew he most likely didn't mean it the way she interpreted, but Catherine took that as a compliment.

Turning in his chair, Galen pointed to Jimmy. "As of right this second, she's back ta active duty. And, I want her in front of a Court before this time next month so this shite can get wrapped up as soon as possible."

A wave of relief washed over Catherine. She knew the Council didn't have the authority to completely toss out the charges before she was even tried, but knowing she had Galen O'Shay in her corner would help her sleep a little sounder. Hearing Jimmy be the one lectured for once was a victory in and of itself to her. This didn't happen very often so she had to take what she could get. Plus, having it come from the Council that she was finally free to get back to work made it all the sweeter. She was already figuring out when she and Darragh could meet to draw up a plan of action once she was back in Belfast.

* * *

"See," Darragh handed Catherine his lighter, "I told ya t'would all work out in the end."

Catherine lit her cigarette and gave him back his lighter. Everyone but Jimmy and Donny had been excused from the meeting, which left Catherine with a fleeting sense of dread. There was absolutely no way those two weren't being reamed out for the fact things in Belfast were quickly turning to shit. Blowing out a stream of smoke from her nostrils, Catherine peered out into the sunset.

"He's pretty cross with me, yeah?"

Sliding one hand into the front pocket of his worn-out jeans, Darragh flicked the ash of his cigarette. "Why the bloody hell does it matter ta ye if he's ragin' or not?"

His tone took Catherine back. She had only ever known him to keep his cool around people. However, it was a known fact that Darragh enjoyed cruising pubs down in Newry, looking for a drunk to beat the shit out of once a month. For a long time, Catherine wondered why people in her inner-circle seemed to be plagued with a never-ending stream of anger. After Jimmy almost beat the life out of her, Catherine finally understood why. She found herself just as angry. The ironic part of it all was that it wasn't Jimmy she was angry with—she was angry at the violent world that had shattered practically all of his humanity.

"It makes me life a little easier when Jimmy isn't looking fer blood. I'm the one who calms him down an' it's even harder fer me ta do that when I'm the one who caused him ta go off the deep end."

"Ya do realize it's not yer responsibility ta reel him in, right?" Darragh pointed out. "I do believe it's Fiona who is in charge of that."

"That may be true, but Fiona has no idea how ta deal with him. Jimmy's been out of control because she's letting him. He's the kind of man who a woman ta run his life because he's so…overemotional—he lets his emotions get the best of him. I'm not saying I want ta be the woman running his life, I just think he deserves someone better than Fiona."

He snorted, not even feeling the slightest bit bad that Catherine was unamused by his actions. "I need ya ta promise that yer totally here wit' me, an' not wit' him. This operation comin' up is huge and it will either be totally successful or a total blood-bath. That all depends on how well ya do yer job. If yer gonna be running back ta Jimmy, then cut yer losses now an' just leave the Ra all together. Because honestly, we don't have time for this schoolyard shite."

Catherine couldn't even be upset with Darragh for dishing out a hot serving of old-fashioned tough love. Everyone in her life had been walking on eggshells when it came to Jimmy that it was refreshing to finally hear the truth from someone. Darragh was going to keep her grounded.

"Like ya heard me tell me Da, I'm in this. I'm done with him, and I'm here wit' ye an' the rest of the unit. There's nothin' ta worry about."

Darragh tucked the butt of his cigarette into the corner of his mouth, holding out his right pinky-finger to Catherine. She smiled like an idiot at his silly gesture. "Promise?"

"I promise!"

Curling her finger around his, Catherine was startled at the sound of the screen door slamming shut. Looking over her shoulder, all the color drained from her face when she saw Jimmy storming down the front steps. Tossing her cigarette, she instinctually moved behind Darragh in hopes that he would act as a buffer. She didn't think that he would try anything with others around, but this was a level of angry that Catherine had never seen before.

"What are ya doin, O'Phelan?"

Darragh wasn't exactly sure as to what Jimmy's next move would be either, so he pushed Catherine totally behind him. On her tip-toes, Catherine gazed over Darragh's shoulder. The protective stance that he took in front of her, reminded Catherine of the times Brien and Liam had stepped in between her and Patrick when the verbal spats got nasty. She felt safe with Darragh and had faith in the fact that he wouldn't let Jimmy—or anyone—put a hand on her.

Underneath Jimmy's Oxfords, the gravel crunched. With each step closer to them, Catherine curled her fingers into Darragh's side until her knuckles were a piercing shade of white.

"Son-of-a-bitch!" Jimmy roared, grabbing the open collar of Darragh's flannel shirt.

Although Darragh was far stronger physically than his adversary, he didn't put up much of a fight when Jimmy pushed him against his beat-up Civic. The cigarette had fallen out of Darragh's mouth in the scuffle, burning a hole clean through the cotton t-shirt he wore under the button-down.

"Jimmy!" Catherine cried, attempting to pull him off, Darragh. "Let him go!"

Jimmy turned his attention to her, not wanting her to overhear the choice words he had for Darragh. "Get in the fuckin' car."

Unsure of what to do, Catherine took a step back. "Not until ya let him go."

Darragh did appreciate Catherine's attempt to separate them. What she failed to realize was that in the mess of it all, she was actually making it worse. In the event that an all-out fist-fight did erupt between him and Jimmy, the last thing he wanted to be worried about was whether or not she was in the middle. He did get the inkling though, that Jimmy wouldn't attempt anything more with her around, as he didn't want to scare her anymore then he already has.

If they were in Belfast, then Darragh would have a concern about her getting into a car with Jimmy. The lads at the safe house wouldn't put up with Jimmy knocking Catherine around, nor would he ever do such a thing in front of Fiona.

Darragh softened his voice. "Catherine, get in the car."

Without a word, Catherine did as she was told. Both Jimmy and Darragh watched her scuffle to the Range Rover. Inside, she glued her face to the window, afraid that if she looked away that's when hell would break loose. She couldn't hear the vulgarities being exchanged, but her imagination didn't have to run very wild.

"Ya think it's funny—putting her up ta shite like that?"

"The hell are ya talkin' about-" Darragh was more annoyed than indigent, by Jimmy attempting to rag-doll him against the car.

Jimmy wanted to punch Darragh in the mouth for asking such a stupid question. He wouldn't, only because Catherine was watching like a hawk from the car.

"If she speaks ta me like that in private, I can handle it. The fact ya encouraged her ta do it in front of the Kings could have fucked up any chance she has at movin' into a command position. Ya know damn well they don't take kindly ta disrespect being shown towards officers. I don't think ya would have found it so amusin' if the tables were turned."

Never in his life had Darragh met someone who was so un-self-aware as Jimmy.

"Yer fuckin' kiddin' me, right?" Darragh tried to loosen Jimmy's grip, but he only tightened it. "Ye filing charges fer insubordination proves that no, ya can't take her speaking ta ye like that in private. I'm not getting into this with ya. Ye run yer unit as ya see fit, and I will run mine as I see fit. If ya have an issue wit' the conduct of either myself or those in my unit, take it up with the ISU."

Jimmy didn't like Darragh telling him the truth. Before he did anything stupid, Jimmy let go of him and took a couple of steps back. "Letting her move over to ya was a fuckin' mistake. Yer gonna ruin her future."

On the contrary, Catherine had more of a chance now, but Darragh wouldn't dare say that out loud.

"Ya broke her, Jimmy. So, she came ta me. I'll make her forget ya even existed."

* * *

**A/N: **This chapter kind of got away from me. I had no intention of making it this long, but I was having a bit of fun _finally_ developing Darragh and his relationship with Catherine. Should Jimmy be more worried about Darragh or Lorcan? I'd love to hear what you guys think. Also, a certain bloke from SAMTAC will be making somewhat of an appearance in the next chapter!


	22. Miss Movin' On

Fiona sat on the sofa, bored out of her mind. Her thoughts were focused on Kerrianne, hoping and praying that her daughter wasn't giving Maureen Ashby much trouble. With a cup of tea snuggled between her hands, she looked over to the men sitting at the kitchen table quietly playing cards. Being stashed away in a safe house had once been an exuberant time for Fiona. Now that she was the significant other to one of the True Army's senior officers, she found herself outside of the tight-knit circle Catherine had wrapped around her finger. No longer were the lads interested in drinking or playing strip poker with her. They were undoubtedly respectful and polite, afraid to say or do anything outlandish in Fiona's presence as they feared Jimmy would come down hard on them.

She missed her old life to pieces. When Olivia had gone off to Glasgow to visit with her sister, Caitlin, for the next month, Fiona had been filled with envy that left her with an irreplaceable void. While she was now a Telford in name only, Fiona appreciated the lengths in which Olivia went to, to keep her feeling as although she was still part of the family. But, she could feel herself pulling back a little more with each passing day, no longer wanting to deal with having to watch an affectionate relationship blossom even more between Jimmy and Catherine.

Too often these days, Fiona would wonder if she even had anything to be sorrowful for. Every choice she had made in life had led her to where she is today, and in a heartbeat, she would give it all up. All she dreamt about was the day she was finally reunited with her husband. The day where Kerrianne could hug her father for the first time in her life. The day she could finally leave Belfast, Catherine, and Jimmy behind.

For years after Chibs left Northern Ireland, Fiona did the best she could to keep her home stable. As she would rock a fussy Kerrianne to sleep amid the occasional jolting crack of the Armalites, hot tears streamed down her face out of dread for the future. Well aware of what people said about her behind her back when she moved in with Jimmy just weeks after Chibs dipped, she refused to bow her head in shame. At one point, her relationship with Jimmy had been working. It surprised her—and everyone else in East Belfast—how quickly Jimmy had adopted a domesticated life.

During the first three months, Fiona assumed Jimmy getting up with Kerri in the middle of the night was being done out of self-reproach. Surely, he was only trying to make himself feel better, considering the guilt of having forced his once best friend out of Belfast was beginning to wear on him. Fiona soon realized that he was genuinely trying to make it work. Cutting back on the number of operations he partook in, staying out of pub fights, and even oping to stay home on Friday and Saturday nights once meant the world to her. Now, she couldn't wait for him to leave the house, even if it were for only a few hours.

There had been passion and lots of it. They had been insatiable for one another until Catherine turned sixteen and she grew into her baby weight. She had always been a beautiful girl growing up, but it seemed like she had woken up one morning with ample breasts, and tight, voluptuous curves. Not even the British soldiers who patrolled the streets could their eyes off her shapely ass as Catherine walked by. It seemed every man in Belfast lusted after her, so Fiona really couldn't blame Jimmy when she had caught him leering at her one afternoon while she was in her school uniform. Patrick, Liam, and Brien were kept busy with chasing any male that came anywhere near her. Somehow, they had let Lorcan and Jimmy slip through the cracks.

Fiona watched bemused, as Catherine stormed into the house and immediately bolted up the stairs. That was all the confirmation she needed as to the day the gone. Taking a slow sip of her tea, she rolled her eyes as Jimmy strode in, hot on Catherine's heels. She jumped slightly, startled by the sound of—presumably—Catherine slamming a door.

Thinking she was safe inside the bathroom, Catherine turned on the shower and quickly stripped from her clothes. She was irritated and feeling sick, ready to just wash the day off and start fresh in the morning. On the way back to Dundalk, she and Jimmy had gotten into it over his treatment of Darragh. Needless to say, Catherine was none too pleased with Jimmy pretending to care about her future and whether or not she eventually made commander.

Stepping under the hot water, Catherine first washed off the three layers of makeup on her face. Just as she was about to lather up her hair, the shower curtain flung open.

"What the fuck, Jimmy?" Catherine shrieked.

Jimmy found it slightly comical when she reached for the other end of the curtain and attempted to cover her body. As if he had never seen her naked before. Ignoring her protest, he jumped right back into the conversation they were having in the car.

"Ya know, it really hurts that ye think I'd purposely try ta destroy yer life."

"That's a joke right?" Catherine furrowed her brow. "Considerin' yer not even capable of feelin' any sort of emotion."

Taking a slight offense to that, Jimmy reached into the shower and shut the water off. "Ye think I don't feel anythin? I've spent the last nineteen fuckin' years makin' all my decisions based on how I feel about ye-"

"Why can't ya jus' tell the truth fer the first time in yer bloody life? The only reason why yer puttin' me through this is because yer angry over the fact I fucked another bloke. All I can tell ya is that ya better get used ta the idea of me bein' with other men because this relationship is so over."

Catherine stepped out of the shower and Jimmy handed her the towel that was sitting on the vanity. Dealing with Catherine's mood swings and out of character behavior over the last few weeks was wearing on Jimmy's last nerve. Even he reached the point where he was ready to wash his hands clean of her and move on. Scrubbing his face with his hands, Jimmy wondered why he was even entertaining this conversation anymore.

"Yer mind hasn't been right fer the last month—yer all over the place. I did this ta maybe scare some sense into ya because I have no idea what's goin' on, an' ya refuse to slow down fer even five minutes. Nothin' will ever stop me from worryin' about ya, but yer right, we're over."

Jimmy had to accept painful reality. He had rushed their relationship, and his inpatients had ruined it all. In the attempt to tie her down, Jimmy realized he had forced Catherine to miss out on that crucial path of self-discovery. His time in the British Army had been the best years of his life, while Catherine had completely missed her opportunity to be a dumb twenty-something. It had been completely his fault. Jimmy never wanted Catherine to settle for anything in her life. If he kept smothering her, then she wouldn't have the chance to find out what it was she really wanted. After all, she was right about another thing; if they were meant to be together, something would happen to make that come true.

Wrapping one arm around the towel-clad Catherine, Jimmy held her head against his chest. He didn't care that her wet hair was soaking right through his shirt. He could hear Catherine sniffle away a few stray tears. Cupping her face in his hands, Jimmy placed an innocent kiss on her forehead. The kiss lingered for several peaceful moments, as Catherine rested her hands on his chest. Neither was necessarily ready to close the book on their romantic relationship, as the passion they felt for one another would never fizzle. But, they had grown enough apart to recognize that it was time to call it quits before the two very headstrong people inflicted any more damage to one another's life. All he ever wanted was for Catherine to find contentment and he knew she'd have no problem in that endeavor. As for Jimmy, he didn't mind falling back into his unexciting home life with Fiona and Kerrianne—at least his work never left him bored.

Gazing into Catherine's eyes, he noticed they were glazed over with uncertainty. So, he reassured her like always:

"I will always be there whenever ya need me. That will never change. Nor will how much I love ye."

Lifting up onto her tiptoes, Catherine pecked his lips. "I will always love ye, too."

"Yer gonna do great things, a chuisle, an' I can't wait ta watch ya thrive. Ya have no idea how much I'm gonna miss ya."

Catherine had an idea, as it hurt like hell to say goodbye to this aspect of their relationship. But, she knew that staying would only cause even more irreparable damage. She was ready to finally move on.

* * *

Laying in bed, Catherine kneaded the quilt between her fingers. Staring at the wall, she tried to block all thoughts from her heads, wishing her brain would turn off for just a minute.

When there was a light knock at the door, Catherine didn't bother rolling other. As much as she wanted to be alone, there was a small sliver of her that didn't want to be. Keeping herself occupied seemed like a better alternative since she wasn't going to be relaxing anytime soon. She told whoever it was to come in, holding her breath in hopes that it wasn't Fiona walking in. When she heard a male voice, she quickly sat up.

"I thought ya went back ta Belfast?"

Darragh sat on the edge of the bed, resisting the urge to cover Catherine's hand with his. "I'm headed back tomorrow…with ye."

"Thank God!" she groaned. "I swear, I'm not leavin' Belfast fer like a year. Unless it's by force."

He chuckled at her attempt of a joke, but he knew she was serious. At one point, Darragh had spent so many of his days in safe houses that he thought about just renting a flat in Dundalk to make it feel somewhat like home. He scrapped that idea, now that Catherine was back to living on the Falls, looking forward to getting a little more comfortable with the west side of the city.

"Do I wanna know how bad the ride back here wit' Jimmy was?"

She wondered if this was information she should be sharing with Darragh. A relatively private person, letting anyone into her personal life was a giant leap of trust for her. Talking about relationship issues with another man always made her feel awkward, even more so after the way Happy had dished out an unwanted serving of the cold-hold truth. Considering there were no issues between her and Jimmy anymore, as the romantic aspect of their relationship had dissolved, there was nothing for her to feel awkward about.

"Fine. No yellin', he didn't put his hands on me or anythin' like that."

Darragh nodded. There was no missing that her eyes were red and swollen, and she sounded congested. She had obviously been crying.

"Ye okay?"

"Aye. Hangin' in there."

No longer caring, Darragh slid his hand over Catherine's. He curled his fingers between the webbing of hers, hoping she wouldn't pull away. Though she didn't, he didn't necessarily get the reaction he was hoping for. Catherine had been taken by surprise with Darragh's bold move. She froze, just staring at his hand over hers.

Since the night he left her high and dry, she had always been under the impression that he wasn't interested in her. Over the course of their friendship, Catherine had convinced herself that he would never be anything more than an older brother, a confidant. She couldn't blame him for not seeing her in an adoring light, as he was best friends with Liam. So much so, that Darragh had been named Godfather to baby Erin. Assuming at some point in the past, Liam had threatened Darragh with a slow and bloody death if he so much as put a finger on her, Catherine respected Darragh even more for keeping his distance. But, that would never stop her from thinking about what kind of future they could have had.

The only reason why she figured Lorcan was the man she was supposed to end up with, was because he had stuck around through thick and thin. If they weren't meant to be, he never would have stayed by her side throughout the whirlwind of drama that swirled her life for a time. Had Darragh never left the house as Catherine soundly slept on the sofa after they spent a sublime night together, she was certain she would have broken off her relationship with Lorcan nor even looked twice at Jimmy.

It wasn't Liam that had kept Darragh from never making a move, it was timing. Unlike Jimmy, he didn't feel right swopping in on another man's woman. Even if that man was as deserving as Jimmy O.

When Catherine didn't make a move back, Darragh concluded that everything between her and Jimmy was the same. He pulled his hand away and silently got up to head for the door. However, he hadn't been able to make his first step, with Catherine quickly grabbing his wrist to stop him. Her grip was clammy and he twisted the top half of his body so he could stare down at her. There were words on the tip of her tongue that Darragh could tell Catherine was trying to choke out.

"Why did ya leave after I fell asleep?"

Hearing that question and the utter sheepishness in her tone, made Darragh feel like the biggest asshole on the planet. He had been young and dumb at the time, though he had only done what he thought was right. There was a sense of relief in that now he knew Catherine had been upset with his abrupt absence. Maybe she really did enjoy his company, as much as he did hers.

Sitting back down on the bed, Darragh gently grabbed Catherine's hand. He rubbed the soft skin of her knuckles with his thumb, committing to memory all of the small freckles on her nose and exposed shoulders. The way she bit her lower lip when nervy, was something he found to be both incredibly adorable and sexy. His heart skipped a beat or two when Catherine reached for his other hand.

"There were a lot of reasons, Catherine." He ran his hand through his thick, shaggy tresses. "Ya weren't ready fer…that, ta happen, an' ya were wit' Lorcan, too. But most importantly, I didn't want ya ta get hurt. I knew the RUC was closin' in on me an' it was only a matter of time before I ended up in prison."

"I would'a waited—"

Darragh placed his index finger over Catherine's lips to stop her from speaking. "I was sentenced ta ten years; ye'd be a bloody eejit ta wait fer me."

"Look at my life. As it turns out, I am a fuckin' eejit."

"No, yer not. Ya were under the spell of Jimmy O'Phelan. Now that ye've broken free, ye'll be amazed by how much yer life will get back on track."

Catherine sighed. This was a Pandora's box she quickly regretted opening. One of Lorcan's most appealing qualities to her was that he wasn't by any means an IRA man. After being with Jimmy, spending her life with another Provo didn't seem like the greatest idea. She couldn't do the same thing over and over and expect a different result. However, she was afraid that she was possibly throwing away something great all because she unfairly lumped Darragh into the likes of Jimmy. Those two men were anything but similar.

"Where does this leave us, then?" she asked.

Darragh shrugged. "When yer ready, ye'll know."

* * *

Juggling her keys and duffle bag, Catherine managed to unlock the back door. She pushed her way inside, closing the door with her foot and not bothering to lock it again. Much to her delight, Patrick was gone at work which would give her a few hours to decompress. Tossing her keys on the table, Catherine picked up the stack of mail with her name on it. Not bothering to flip through it, she headed straight upstairs. Tossing her bag and the mail onto the floor of her bedroom, Catherine then strolled to the bathroom and started a bubble bath.

Slipping under the hot, sudsy water, Catherine relaxed. There was still so much on her plate that needed attention, but she couldn't bring herself to think about it just yet. For now, she wanted to enjoy this short time alone as Catherine was feeling the pressure of her changing life. She knew it was ridiculous of her to think everything would stay the same, but that wasn't how life worked. To keep herself from panicking as she thought about her future, Catherine tried to reassure herself that she had outgrown everything she had going for her and was now ready to take on bigger and better challenges.

Pulling the plug for the drain, Catherine stepped out of the tub and dried off. Tying the sash of her robe, she walked back to her bedroom with full intention on taking a quick nap. Her energy levels had been almost none existent lately. It seemed that no matter how many hours she slept at night and during the day, exhaustion found its way to gloom over her.

Off her bedroom floor, Catherine grabbed the small stack of envelopes. She flipped through the junk mail and bills, almost ignoring the small envelope that was tucked between her phone bill and coupons. She tossed the rest of them onto her dresser as she examined it. It was addressed to her, but it had been sent to one of SAMBEL's legitimate businesses. In the spot where the return address was, there was no name, but the fact it came from the United States had her stomach fluttering.

Ripping into it, Catherine sat on her bed. She unfolded the piece of notebook paper, smoothing out the creases as she mustered the courage to read the obviously male handwriting.

_Catherine, _

_Wish we had the chance to say goodbye. Jax made me realize what I said to you the last night we saw each other wasn't fair so, I'm sorry. Don't be a stranger. The Alibi isn't as fun without you. _

_-Happy_

Catherine read it over three times, just to be sure her mind wasn't playing games with her. To say she was flabbergasted, was an understatement. Never in a million years would she imagine a man like Happy taking the time to write out a letter to a woman who lived across the Atlantic Ocean. She never imagined a man like Happy even having the word "sorry" in his vocabulary. There was nothing he had to be sorry for and Catherine wished like hell she could tell him that to his face. The gesture beyond touched her heart, leaving her to feel—once again—like an idiot.

Rolling up the sleeve to her robe, Catherine ran her thumb along the 'J' shaded into the shamrock tattoo. If the cost of a flight across the pond to Charming wasn't guaranteed to drain her savings, she would absolutely take Happy up on his offer to cover it up. She wasn't sure if she should write back to him and say her days of being a world traveler were over. To some extent, Catherine wanted to just pretend that part of her life didn't happen. Happy was nothing more than a one-night stand to her, just as she was nothing more to him. There was no point in them doing the awkward "are we friends?" dance, when it was obvious they had absolutely nothing in common. As much as she wanted to just throw that letter away, Catherine couldn't bring herself to. Tucking it back into the envelope, she shoved it under the mattress, as she was unsure where to stash it.

Deciding there was something else that needed her attention, she dug through her duffle looking for the paper bag from the pharmacy. Fiona's words from the other night were playing over and over in her head.

"_How far along are ya?"_

With shaking hands, Catherine pulled out the box of pregnancy tests.


	23. When the Seasons Change

_Two pink lines in the window indicate a pregnant result. _

"Holy shit."

Those were two bold, pink lines on the plastic stick Catherine was holding.

Undoubtedly terrified, she also felt a small spark of excitement. A family of her own was something Catherine had constantly thought about when she was with Jimmy.

She quickly crushed that excitement when she realized there was no _family _to be had. They were no longer together, which meant she'd have to do this all on her own. The thought of that scared her to death. Not to mention the judgment she'd receive from everyone in their tight-knit Catholic community.

Still holding the pregnancy test, Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. Fat tears managed to escape and slide down her cheeks. She couldn't tell Jimmy, not until she was sure she was pregnant. Under no circumstance would she even tell her father and brothers, as O'Toole men tended to do a lot of their talking with their fists and she was afraid of what they'd do to Jimmy.

The first thing she knew she had to do was schedule a doctor's appointment, then worry about what the next steps would be.

Downstairs, she heard the front door open and slam shut. Patrick was home early. Drying her eyes and wiping her nose, Catherine quickly pulled herself together.

A small panic engulfed her as she scrambled to gather the box the test came in, the instructions, and the stick. She shoved them into the bag from the pharmacy in Newry, before finishing up in the bathroom. Once she had the evidence of her carelessness hidden with her bras and panties, Catherine dressed.

"Catherine?" Patrick called out from the bottom of the stairs. "Ya home?"

She jogged down the hall to the stairs, where she watched his smile widened when he saw Catherine was finally back. He was hoping to keep her around for a while, ready for the dust to settle. Ascending down the stairs, Catherine wasted no time in hugging him.

"Darragh dropped me off about an hour ago. How was work?"

Patrick was never good at sharing much about his day. A habit that had carried over from when he had been involved full-time in the IRA. The question always popped regardless, as Catherine just wanted to make genuine conversation with her father. By the way he was dressed, she could tell it wasn't the shipyard where he had spent his hours, so she expected the usual vague answers.

"It was smooth. Are ya still not feelin' well?"

His tone softened, going warm and gentle. Catherine nearly melted when Patrick placed the back of his hand on her forehead, checking to see whether or not she had a fever. Her heart was screaming at her to just come out and tell Patrick that she was most likely pregnant. She knew he'd be upset at first, but then he'd come around to the idea of becoming a grandfather for the second time. Thankfully her brain was in charge, as she didn't want to cause issues just yet.

"I took a bubble bath so I'm still a wee bit over-heated." She always hated lying to Patrick. "Go wash up, I'm gonna get dinner started."

He nodded, moving past Catherine on the stairs so he could go shower. As Catherine started to make her way through the living room to the kitchen, he called out her name to get her attention.

"It's brilliant havin' ya back here. Your Ma an' I have missed ya."

Catherine smiled. "Believe me, I'm glad to be back too."

* * *

Getting an appointment at the Royal Victoria took Catherine nearly a week. For six long days, she kept to herself, agonizing over the future. She avoided contact with most people, except for Patrick and Darragh. Not wanting to do it alone, Catherine had wished Olivia was home to go with her, but her absence ended up being a blessing. Her mother hadn't the slightest clue on how to keep news and gossip to herself.

"When was your last period?" Doctor Gallagher inquired.

Catherine could feel her cheeks start to burn with embarrassment. She had never been good at keeping track of those dates, as her body never exactly ran like clockwork. The paper crinkled beneath her as she shifted on the examination table. Catherine closed one eye and thought hard.

"I haven't the slight clue. Life's been a wee stressful so I just figured I was late because of that."

The doctor raised her eyebrows as a small, amused smile ghosted over her lips. "Would ya say it's been longer than six weeks?"

"Aye."

Jotting down notes into Catherine's chart, she didn't bother looking up.

"Today, we'll take some blood, and schedule an ultrasound. We'll be able to give ya a better estimate on how far along you are from the ultrasound."

Thankfully there were too many emotions running through her for Catherine to pay attention to the blood draw. She was more scared than anything, mainly about the scrutiny. She was also worried that Jimmy would exile her from Belfast to the Republic, so he wouldn't have to deal with the backlash either. Wondering how Fiona would react wasn't even something she could begin to think about.

And Darragh. She couldn't blame him for not wanting to explore the possibility of a relationship with her, as she couldn't expect him to take responsibility for Jimmy's baby.

"The results should be in tomorrow, so we'll give ya a call the moment we know. Why don't we go ahead and schedule an ultrasound for Thursday, then? You're more than welcome to bring your husband."

She froze. Sooner or later it was bound to come up. Catherine didn't feel as though she had anything to be ashamed of.

"I'm not married."

"Oh." There was a hint of judgment in Doctor Gallagher's voice. "Bring the boyfriend."

_Get me the fuck out of here, _Catherine thought. She didn't have the mental or emotional strength to explain that there wasn't a boyfriend either. Pursing her lips, Catherine summoned her best fake smile.

* * *

After her appointment, Catherine took a detour on her way home. Crossing the bridge into east Belfast, she found herself sitting in her car across the street from St. Matt's. Being back in the Short Strand was slightly surreal, admitting that there was a part of her that did miss it.

Stepping out of the car, Catherine locked it and pulled her rosary from her bag while crossing the road. She wasn't exactly sure how long it had been since she last attended Mass. Considering her current plight, she couldn't think of anywhere else to go. Father Ashby had always been there to offer guidance when she needed it, and she needed it now more than ever.

Inside the church, Catherine slid into a pew near the back. There were others scattered about the sanctuary in silent prayer, so she lowered the kneeler as quietly as possible. Once she was settled, Catherine humbly lowered her head and clenched the pink beads. For the first time in years, she prayed the Rosary, not just once, but three times. She prayed for the strength to move on with her life, to keep her head held high, and most importantly, a healthy and happy pregnancy. Catherine prayed for Jimmy and Patrick to take the news with grace, as well as for everyone close to her whose lives would be impacted.

There was one person in this entire mess who Catherine found herself thinking about the most. Kerrianne. She knew the eleven-year-old struggled enough with the dysfunction of her home life, so there was no saying how she would react to the news that her quasi-stepfather had fathered a love child.

A small part of Catherine was hopeful. Never in her life had she met a man as broken as Jimmy and it utterly killed her to watch him spiral out of control. She remembered the glint of joy that had shined in Jimmy's eye the only time they spoke of having a child. He had always wanted one of his own, longing to feel that bond which was missing in his relationship with Kerrianne. Catherine wondered if this baby would bring back the humanity that Jimmy had lost over the years.

"What's troublin' ya, Catherine?"

She stopped mouthing her prayer when the voice of Father Kellan Ashby rang out beside her. He offered his hand for help as she rose from her knees, sitting beside him.

"It's that obvious something's wrong, Father?" she joked.

"You've had a rough year."

Father Ashby's deep connection to the IRA made him the first person Catherine went to. She always felt confident in speaking to him as she could bare every last grievance without having to worry about lawful blowback. After her screw up, which led to the death of an innocent man, it was Father Ashby who helped to pull Catherine from her depression and make sure she didn't stray from her duties. If there was one person in this world who Catherine could tell, it was him. Not only would he keep it to himself, but he would help guide her down the right path.

"I'm pregnant, Father."

"Jimmy?" he asked.

Catherine sniffled, trying to hold back tears. "Aye."

He stayed silent for a moment, digesting the news. Catherine ending up in this situation came as an honest surprise to him. Watching her grow into herself, it always seemed as though she had a good head on her shoulders and would stay out of trouble. When he had become privy to the fact she was involved with Jimmy, Father Ashby thought she'd be smart enough not put her future in jeopardy. He knew what needed to be done.

"I can have the Council send ya to Dundalk or Donegal until you deliver. Then the wee one will be put up for adoption. We'll make sure the baby ends up in lovin' arms an' it'll be done quietly. No one has to know."

"I would know," she snapped. "I'm not givin' up my baby for adoption. Maureen has done a brilliant job with Trinity on her own. I can do it, too."

Father Ashby understood Catherine's defense, but he was thinking beyond the difficulties of being a single mother.

"Have ya thought about the repercussions of havin' Jimmy's illegitimate child?"

"Of all people, Father, you are in no position to lecture me about illegitimate children. As I recall, that lovely niece of yours is a bastard."

He wanted to tell Catherine the truth about Trinity, but he couldn't break Maureen's trust. If she could realize that Maureen had lied about her daughter's paternity to give Trinity better memories, then maybe she would have the strength to give her child something more than that. A better life, far away from the violence Catherine had devoted _her_ life to.

"It's not just about that. Do ya want to risk raisin' a child who turns out exactly like their father?"

"I want ta raise my child in Belfast, with their biological father."

"That'll never happen," he said, matter-of-factly. "Jimmy already has a family he loves-"

"Jimmy loves me more than he will ever love Fiona and Kerrianne. I don't want to be with him, I just want him involved."

They were interrupted by Sean and Michael Casey making an appearance in the sanctuary. Father Ashby held up his index finger to them, telling the brothers he'd be with them in a moment. Standing up, he lowered his voice.

"I suggest ya ask yourself how Filip would feel if he knew it's Jimmy's before ya make a final decision. I do hope to see you at Mass on Sunday."

As Father Ashby walked down the aisle to meet the Casey brothers and escort them to the rectory, Catherine slouched in the pew. She had come to St. Matt's looking for guidance from the IRA priest, but instead she was left in a terrible fluster.

* * *

Just off the Falls on Springfield Road, Darragh was renting a room in a houseful of students from Queen's University. His roommates were none the wiser to what his day job entailed and he was pleased they never asked questions. As long as he got the rent to them on time and didn't cause any problems, they wouldn't dig into his life.

It was unusual for him to be home in the late afternoon on a Tuesday, but he was enjoying his downtime. With the other lads still in class for the day, Darragh was sprawled out on the sofa wearing nothing but his boxers, as he watched a Gaelic football match from the previous night.

There was a knock, which he fully intended to ignore until he heard it again. Muting the television, Darragh pried himself off the sofa and scuffled to the door.

The sunlight hit him right in the face and even through squinted eyes, he saw who was standing in front of him.

"If I knew this was how ya greeted your guests, I would'a started comin' over a long time ago," Catherine smirked.

She didn't even bother hiding the fact that she was gawking. The sight of his well-defined shoulders and chest, his rigid abdominals, and the dramatic v-shape of his hips left her salivating. All Catherine could imagine was licking whipped cream off his stomach, thinking how much of a dishonor it was for Darragh to keep all of that hidden underneath shirts. She cursed the fact she was twisted tighter than a knot, frustrated that she's either nauseous or horny.

Slightly bashful, Darragh redirected the conversation as he let her inside.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There's somethin' I need to talk with ya about."

Of everyone in her inner circle, Darragh was the only person who Catherine felt comfortable sharing the news with. If she kept it in any longer, she was afraid she would crack and have a complete breakdown. The strain radiating off of her was palpable for Darragh, and his thoughts instantly went to the worst-case scenario. Even he had his suspicions about Liam's possible involvement with the PSNI. He would never say it to her face though.

Leading Catherine into the kitchen, he gestured for her to sit down as he went straight to the stove to turn on the burner under the kettle.

"What's on your mind?" he asked, grabbing mugs.

Catherine placed her elbows on the table, laced her fingers, and then rested her forehead on her thumbs. She couldn't look him in the eyes as she told him. "I'm pregnant."

Hearing those two words, Darragh half-collapsed against the edge of the counter. The news hit him like a high-speed train. He had a hard time catching his breath, not simply because she was expecting a child, but because of whom she was expecting with. Catherine deserved to have the biggest and happiest family, and he was excited for her. At the same time, he was devastated she'd be forever connected to Jimmy.

When she lowered her hands from her face, Darragh snapped back to reality when he saw how upset she was. Her voice was thick and she struggled to get the words out amongst the tears.

"What am I gonna do?"

Without a second thought, Darragh dropped to his knees between her legs. He pushed the dampened strands of hair out of her face, attempting to sooth to her. He couldn't even begin to imagine how much havoc this has been ravaging on her. For the most part, Catherine had been holding up relatively fine.

Father Ashby telling her to figure out how Chibs would feel about her keeping the baby struck a nerve she didn't even know was exposed. There was no doubting she loved her uncle, but he wasn't in Belfast any more and Catherine didn't think it was fair Chibs was who she should be worried about in this instance.

"Hey." Darragh gathered Catherine's hands in his and gave them a light squeeze. "What do you wanna do?"

"Father Ashby said-"

He cut her off. "I didn't ask what Father Ashby said. I'm askin' what _you _want because this is your life."

"I want this baby."

She didn't even have to think about her answer. Adoption was off the table and there was no way she was going to budge. Not even Patrick or Jimmy was going to talk her out of the decision she made.

Catherine confided. "I'm terrified though. Of doin' it alone—what everyone will think."

"This city is seethin' with secrets. God knows everyone has their fair share of dirty laundry. Ya knew people would talk when ya started shaggin' Jimmy, but ya didn't care because it was somethin' you wanted. If havin' the baby is somethin' ya want, then you won't care what they have to say. Nor will ya be doin' this alone. I promise I won't let ya—I'll be right by your side every step of the way. Not to mention your parents, and brothers."

That was exactly what Catherine needed to hear. She quickly realized how silly it was that she thought she would be going through this on her own. She began wondering if she'd even tell Jimmy, let alone her family, that he was the father. It would make everything colossally easier for everyone if Jimmy was left out of the equation altogether.

Darragh melted her heart with the commitment that he would be there for her during the entire pregnancy. She couldn't ask him to do that, though. This wasn't his responsibility. If she wanted someone to be by her side, it needed to the man who partook in the action that led to this consequence.

"Ya don't need ta do that. You've enough on your hands."

"I wanna be there for you." Darragh knew Jimmy sure as hell wasn't going to step up. There was no way he could stand idly by and watch her go through a life-changing transformation. "Have ya told anyone else? Besides Father Ashby."

Catherine shook her head. "Not yet. I have an ultrasound on Thursday ta confirm it."

He committed that day to memory.

"Don't put it off. The longer ya wait ta tell your da and brothers, the more upset they'll be."

"So I guess that means waitin' to tell them until _after_ the baby's born isn't a good idea, huh?"

Darragh chuckled. At least she still had her sense of humor, and that's all that matter to him.

* * *

Surrounded by white containers of greasy Chinese food, Catherine felt at ease with Darragh in his bed. As they ate noodles with chopsticks, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They debated over Irish, British, and American history, literature, and their musical tastes. But, it was Catherine's extensive knowledge on the Russian Revolution as well as their last Imperial Family that left him amazed, yet doleful. Spearing his chopsticks into the container of chicken chow mien, Darragh set it on his nightstand.

"Such a waste," he said.

Catherine swallowed her bite of food with a quizzical look. "What is?"

"The fact ya didn't go to university."

"Wasn't the right decision for me to go."

Darragh shook his head, not even hiding the fact he didn't believe a single word of her defense. He remembered how excited she had been after being accepted to Queen's, then—as if out of nowhere—she had lost all interest to formally continue her education. There was a gut feeling that told him who exactly played a major role in that.

"Did you come up with that on your own, or did _he _convince ya it wasn't the right decision."

Getting into this didn't seem fun or worthwhile for Catherine. She knew she had made a mistake in not going, and she hated being reminded of it. The armed struggle was nowhere near as active as it had been a decade ago, but somehow Jimmy had managed to convince Catherine that she should be focusing all of her time on the cause.

"Jimmy—he's a very persuasive man."

He had never come right out and told her that higher education was a waste of time. Instead, he worked a crafty scheme by captivating Catherine's interest. Letting her train with smuggled military-grade rifles, firing off mortar bombs in empty fields, and showing her how to make a variety of insincerity devices was far more exciting than sitting in a lecture hall.

"He's a manipulator," Darragh growled.

"He's an outcome engineer."

Catherine had no idea why she was defending Jimmy. Maybe because it was almost like second nature to her at this point in life. She had spent a decade vindicating his actions to other people, that she had to be conditioned not to anymore.

"Look," she started, wanting to defuse the conversation before it got heated. "Ya don't have to convince me that Jimmy is a terrible human being, because I already know that."

"Do ya, though?" he asked, unconvinced.

Catherine licked her lower lip, letting out a frustrated sigh as she watched Darragh play with the cross he wore on a chain around his neck. The fact he was still shirtless only distracted her slightly.

"I do. I understand no one believes me when I say that I'm over him, because we have such a heated and emotional connection. For a while, it was passionate and it was workin'. I was utterly in love with him and wanted to spend the rest of my life by his side. But, as time went on, his true colors finally came out and that's not a man who I want to be involved with. Ya don't have to believe me, Darragh, and I know I'll have to spend the rest of my life provin' that to everyone in this goddamn city."

Darragh stayed silent. Her words saturated him and he could tell she was speaking the truth. If she wasn't, Catherine would have run back to Jimmy the moment that pregnancy test turned pink. Nor would she have been so conflicted over what she should do. Other people may take her willingness to remain civil with him as a sign that she wasn't ready to let go of what they had, but that's not how Darragh saw it. The most mature thing she could do was remain cordial, as Jimmy had command over the entire Brigade. Catherine wasn't trying to tank his reputation or keep him from moving up in the ranks—she just wanted to move on with her life.

When Catherine didn't get a response from him, she felt slightly stupid. She had a hard enough time opening up, so when it wasn't met with reciprocity she shut down even more. Placing her container of food beside Darragh's, she looked at her watch. It was nearly eleven o'clock; she had been there for almost eight hours now.

"I should be headin' home. I start surveillance on Shane Carrigan in the mornin'. Thanks, for dinner-"

As Catherine hopped off the bed to start gathering her shoes and bag, Darragh grabbed her wrist, just as she had done to him a week prior. He'd forever regret it if he didn't at least ask:

"Stay with me tonight?"

Looking down at Darragh's fingers gently wrapped around her wrist, Catherine slowly blinked. She listened closely for that voice in the back of her head telling her it would a disastrous move stay the night with him, but she couldn't hear it. Dropping her bag to the floor, she smiled and climbed back into his bed.


	24. Salvation

Darragh woke up to the sound of the shower running. Rolling over to his right side, he stretched his arm out expecting it to drape over Catherine. Instead, all he felt was the warmth of the empty space she had occupied during the night. Sitting up and resting his back against the wall, Darragh rubbed the sleep from his sore eyes. He looked around the room, noticing her shoes, bag, and clothes were still on the floor. It didn't take him long to realize it was Catherine who was in the shower. Tossing the cheap, blue spruce comforter off, he jumped out of bed and ditched his boxers with the shameless intention to join her.

Standing under the hot spray, Catherine reached for the bottle of generic 2-in-1 sitting on the ledge atop the shower door. She popped the cap and got a whiff of the spicy, clean scent, which she recognized in belonging to Darragh. Squirting the gel into the palm of her hand, Catherine closed her eyes as she worked it into a lather in her hair. She had been so relaxed from the previous night's sleep and the magical wonders of hot water, that she didn't even sense when an intruder snuck into the shower stall. Only when she felt rough fingertips brush along the slick flesh of her hipbone did she jump. Darragh busted out into a fit of laughter at the audible yelp that had escaped Catherine. He hadn't expected to scare her as much as he had.

"Ye are such an asshole," she snickered.

Darragh willingly accepted the small pinch-and-twist Catherine gave his nipple. His laughter began to die down as he focused on her rinsing the shampoo from her hair. It was the first time he was seeing her naked and she was just as dazzling as he anticipated. Keeping his eyes from traveling any further south of her neck was a failed mission. As the soapy foam cascaded down her ivory skin, Darragh followed the trails. Catherine didn't notice his open-mouthed stare or obvious arousal.

Keeping his hands to himself over the course of the night had been challenging. In the small quarters of his full-sized bed, skin-to-skin contact was unavoidable. When Darragh woke up at one point in the middle of the night with Catherine's ass grinding into his cock, he turned over to keep from prodding her with his hard-on.

He had fallen for this woman who was so much more than beautiful. In Darragh's eyes, Catherine was as smart as a whip, funny. The bravery she possessed outmatched some of the hardest men he had come across while in prison. He couldn't deny the fact that her past was hideous, yet her willingness to never look back only made him want to be part of her bright future even more. She was lionhearted, just as he was. Last night it felt like a punch to the gut for Darragh when she said she didn't deserve him because of the mistakes she made. He felt it was the other way around.

She looked up and noticed he was looking at her. His expression was intense, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his lips. As they stared at each other under the pouring warm water, she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted so much more than just the stolen glances and the brushes of hands, and the constant flirting. Catherine had never wanted him as badly as she did at that moment. To feel the fire from his hands and mouth, the electricity of the delicious rush that she had only read about in books. Her fingers hankered to run through his hair. Darragh was her salvation—she wanted to pull him in and never let him go.

"Kiss me." he croaked, and that was all Catherine needed to hear. For far too long, she had been slowly dying and he was the medicine she had been searching for. She finally felt alive, stronger, and genuinely happy. Being wrapped in his strong arms showed her where exactly home truly was.

He had been starving to taste Catherine's honeyed tongue once again. Her skin was soft and silken, just as he remembered. She made delicate sounds as he explored her mouth and he was in no rush. As she slid her fingers into his wet hair, Darragh placed his hands on her ribcage, backing her up against the tiled wall.

The world around him suddenly faded away. This was the first time Darragh had ever become so utterly lost in a kiss. His heart began to skip beats and he couldn't bring her close enough to him. It was a kiss that burned him alive.

They weren't sure just how long the kiss had lasted—two minutes, two hours. The only thing they did know was that it was time to stop resisting fate. Six long years had already been wasted. It was time to start making up for everything they had lost.

"The things I'd do ta ya if ye were mine." Darragh caressed her cheek with his hand, sliding his fingers into her hair.

Her eyes fluttered shut and she leaned her head into his hand. "Take me."

"Is that what ya really want?"

"That's all I've_ ever_ wanted."

Reaching to shut off the water, Darragh then opened the sliding glass door. Grabbing Catherine's hand, he led her back to his bedroom.

Pushing her down onto his bed, he climbed over her and held her wrists down to the mattress. He leaned down, kissing her fiercely. Desperate for him, Catherine slung one of her legs along his lower back, lifting and rolling her hips to meet his.

Their tongues continued to entwine, but it wasn't the fight for control she had been so accustomed to. He was gentle, tender.

Darragh entered her, sliding deeper until they were fully joined. Catherine arched her back, unable to control the moan that vibrated her throat. He fucked her—not fast but drove each thrust hard into her. She struggled to free her wrists from his hold, frantic to touch him. So, he released them and interlocked their fingers.

Catherine could feel herself letting go, becoming focused only on the moment. Time slowed. The pressure of his hands squeezing hers and the sensation of his cock filling her were the only things that mattered.

She was wet and ready—her velvet heat nearly shut his brain down. Darragh tormented both of them with his deliberate slowness. It was worth it just to hear every moan drip from Catherine's mouth. She begged, swore, gasped. With every note she made, he fucked her harder.

Enjoying the teasing agony of the unhurried journey, Catherine buried her face into the curve of his neck. Her tongue darted out, licking the length of his throat and tasting the saltiness of his skin. It aroused him even more as the syllabus of his name were mixed with hedonistic enchantment. Her orgasm came crashing down on her. It was a screaming, clawing, crying, leg quaking wave.

When it hit, Darragh's climax was a bellowing rush that overwhelmed Catherine in all the right ways. He pushed her deeper into the bed, before collapsing bonelessly on top of her. She instantly wrapped her arms around him as he rested his head on her chest. The loud, quick beats of her heart were music to Darragh as he caught his breath.

Catherine entangled their legs, her fingers running through his damp tresses. As she held Darragh against her flushed, sweaty body, she was thankful he couldn't see her face. Tears collected in Catherine's lashes.

Regret swelled her. It wasn't regret over having done what she did, it was regret for having waited this long to let her guard down with him. He had been right in front of her and she ignorantly chose to cast him aside. Catherine had preferred to play it safe with Jimmy. She was afraid to allow herself to feel the dangerous love because Darragh's life was so similar to hers. Falling in love with an IRA man meant long prison terms, and too often death. It was a cruel realization that every other man would pale in comparison to the one with his head peacefully resting on her chest. He started a fire within Catherine that would never die. Every part of her was now awakened. No love would ever come close to how alive he made her feel.

Last night Catherine had spilled her soul to him. She finally admitted to how devastated she had been when he left her without so much as a goodbye. And how it was the cataclysm of her attack and his arrest, that sent her straight into Jimmy's arms. Darragh ran his hands over Catherine's past, lingering over the dents and jagged edges. He promised she'd never fight another battle alone.

* * *

Wriggling into her Levi's, Darragh watched Catherine from the bed. One hand was tucked under his head and a cigarette hung from the corner of his mouth. He was captivated by her. As much as he wanted to keep her naked and in his bed for the rest of the day, as her officer commanding he understood she had work to do.

"What do ya say we meet at the safe house in Newry at half-ten tonight?" Darragh asked, dropping the cigarette into an empty soda can.

His housemates would be in for the night, giving him absolutely no privacy to discuss Catherine's surveillance report. As she pulled her t-shirt over her head, Catherine thought about it. The drive to Newry didn't excite her much, but she did have another plan. Strolling over to the bed, Catherine straddled Darragh's lap. She ran her hand along his bare chest, tangling her fingers in the white gold chain around his neck. His hands caressed her denim-clad thighs. This was a position he couldn't wait to get her in.

"Why don't ye come ta mine? I'm sure ye haven't had a home cooked meal in a while, an' I'll even do yer laundry. My Da'll be there and he can give his insights on what the next plan of action should be with Carrigan."

It was too tempting of an offer to pass up. The only time he had a meal that didn't come from a takeaway container was when he was in Dundalk and one of the other lads was cooking. Darragh knew well enough that Catherine volunteering her services to do his wash was only on the table in order to lure him in.

With Patrick there, he'd have to behave and keep his hand to himself. Easy enough, Darragh thought. Considering he had for years already.

He noticed how she had kept her head hung low, her eyes avoiding him. Catherine didn't want him to see the pleading look in her eye.

"I'd love ta do that." And, it wasn't just the promise of good food and clean clothes that influenced his decision. Darragh genuinely wanted to spend a—slightly—domestic night with Catherine. Hearing his positive answer instantly made her perk up. He had never seen her smile so wide and her eyes with such a sparkle. She had asked Jimmy that same question hundreds of times and never once had he obliged her. Wrapping a hand around hers, Darragh rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb. "I've got somethin' ta handle in the Republic fer most of the day, so I should be there about eight. Also, since yer gonna be in the Short Strand, I wanna swap cars wit' ya. I don't spend much time on that side of the river so my car won't be easily recognizable."

Catherine felt stupid for not even thinking about that. With all the time she had spent living in the Short Strand, it was a risk sending her in to follow a man who knew the IRA was itching to take him out.

Leaving Belfast—or Northern Ireland for that matter—always lit a fire of anxiety in the pit of Darragh's stomach. He no longer worried about catching a tail to an arms dump, it was leaving Catherine vulnerable while he was some distance away.

Now that she was no longer working under the Quartermaster, Catherine couldn't know where in the Republic the weapons, ammunition, and explosives were being held. Even if he could bring her along, this was a trip Darragh didn't want her anywhere near.

"Brendan'll be with me, so if Carrigan spots ya or anyone starts trouble, Max and Kieran should be yer first calls," he instructed. "A bloke from Dungloe warned me that Jimmy's been on the warpath since the two of ye ended things. He's expected ta be back in Belfast by mid-afternoon today. If ya see him and he says one fuckin' word ta ye, immediately call yer Da and then me."

Catherine took a nervy breath, not ready for Jimmy to be back home. The last week had been near blissful with him in Donegal with SOA, coordinating the AK shipments to Charming. If she wasn't stressed enough about her first attempt at a stakeout, having to keep an eye peeled for Jimmy made her dread it even more. Knowing Darragh had her back if Jimmy did attempt a petty confrontation helped ease some of the apprehension.

"I promise I'll do my best ta avoid trouble," she joked, brining his hand to her mouth where she pressed soft kisses to his fingertips. "Just please make sure ya come back ta me in one piece."

Darragh raised an eyebrow and cocked the corner of his mouth into a smirk. He should have known better than to think Catherine wasn't in the know about what he was doing. After all, it had been her who gave him the green light to go ahead with the operation before she took the demotion to his unit. Catherine wasn't thrilled with the idea of Darragh being the one to transport two unstable pipe bombs to Belfast, but he was the type of commander who never asked his subordinates to anything he wouldn't do himself.

He respected Catherine enough not to sugar coat reality for her. Though, with everything she had on her mind already, he didn't want her worrying about him. "I promise I'll come back in one piece."

* * *

For nearly four hours, Catherine had been sitting in Darragh's Civic. She followed Shane Carrigan all over Belfast and parts of Andersontown, committing each stop he made to memory. To keep the leader of the Irish People's Liberation Army from recognizing her, Catherine had her copper curls hidden under a black skull cap and her eyes stayed behind sunglasses even though it was drizzling.

Waiting for Carrigan to leave the Templemore Swim and Fitness Centre in the Short Strand, Catherine mindlessly flipped through an issue of The Sun. She shoved piece after piece of bubblegum into her mouth, chewing mercilessly in an attempt to curb the irresistible craving for a cigarette.

From the cup holder, her cellphone began to ring. Flipping it open with her chin, Catherine brought it to her ear. It was the doctor, confirming the news Catherine already knew. Her blood test came back positive—she was undoubtedly pregnant. Before hanging up, the ultrasound was confirmed for the next afternoon.

After tossing her phone back in the cup holder, Catherine gripped the steering wheel. Her knuckles turned a bright shade of white as she let it all sink in. She was calmer than she had expected herself to be, but she wondered how much that had to do with being out in public and not in the comfort of her bedroom.

There were no tears. Pregnancy was supposed to be a joyous time for a woman. She knew she'd be doing herself a disservice in resenting or dreading every beautiful moment of it, simply because of who she had conceived with. It didn't matter how many times Jimmy could try and convince Catherine that he was ready to take on the responsibility of a child, she knew that was far from being true. He'd never be ready for a wee one.

Placing her hand over her still flat tummy, Catherine made the decision that she could never tell Jimmy the truth. Keeping the baby's paternity a secret wouldn't just protect Jimmy from further professional shame, it would also guard Fiona and Kerrianne from mockery. Most importantly, it would reduce the amount of humiliation brought upon the O'Toole name.

There was no way to know how it would all turn out, but she didn't ignore that gut-feeling telling her it would all be okay.

Around six, Catherine wrapped up her surveillance on Carrigan. Still in the Short Strand, she decided to pick up groceries for dinner and see a friendly face. Pulling the skull cap off her head and fluffing out her curls, Catherine timidly waltzed into Ashby's Provisions. It had been an embarrassingly long time since she had seen Maureen and Trinity last.

Noticing Maureen was busy taking inventory behind the counter, Catherine kept to herself as she gathered sausages and potatoes, then onions and broth for gravy. In Belfast, there were dozens of stores where she could have shopped—for cheaper—but, there was an ulterior motive for Catherine's visit.

"Well, if it isn't Catherine Mary." Maureen smiled warmly as Catherine placed her groceries on the counter. "It's been a minute since I've last seen ye. What's the craic? How'er yer parents an' brothers? Is yer ma sill in Scotland?"

Catherine internally chuckled at Maureen's rapid fire questioning. Though Maureen chose to stay an arm's length away from the IRA, that didn't stop a life-long friendship from blossoming between she, Olivia, and Fiona. They didn't talk much nowadays, but that didn't stop them from meeting for tea once a month.

"Everyone's doin' well. No one's in jail which is always grand. Aye, my Ma's there, she'll be back in two weeks. I know Brien is lookin' forward ta havin' Padraic around again."

As Maureen rang up Catherine's purchases, they chatted. The news of Catherine and Jimmy splitting had spread through Belfast like wildfire, and Catherine only knew that because Maureen pried for details. She kept it cool, holding it close to her chest that there was a budding romance between Darragh and her.

At this point, Catherine figured it would only take about five minutes for the word of her pregnancy to reach Tralee, all the way down in County Kerry. As she reached in the back pocket of her jeans for the tenners Darragh had given her, Catherine nonchalantly dropped a question of her own:

"How well do ya know the blokes from the mother charter?"

Nothing else had to be said for Maureen to know exactly what was being asked. Her loyalty had always laid with the Sons of Anarchy, as she was the old lady of SAMBEL's president.

Maureen froze in the middle of bagging the potatoes and onions. She had to tread carefully, not knowing how much Catherine knew or why she was asking. "Not very well. Why do ya ask?"

It wasn't exactly a lie, but it discouraged Catherine nonetheless. The list of people who knew Catherine had been in California with SAMCRO was extremely short, and Maureen wasn't on it.

"Just lookin' ta possibly get a letter ta Filip."

Nor was that necessarily a lie either, but she was far more interested in getting word back to Happy.

"I've no way ta get word across the pond," she said. Taking a deep breath, Maureen leaned into Catherine and lowered her voice. "But Keith does. Bring it ta me an' I'll see that he gets it. No one from the True Army will know."


	25. Impossible to Ignore

After dinner, Patrick retired to bed for the night, leaving Catherine and Darragh in the kitchen. She sipped her tea, while he nipped Bushmills.

"I heard from the doctor today—blood test came back positive. The ultrasound is tomorrow at the Royal."

Blowing smoke from his nostrils, he placed his elbows on the table. Unwaveringly, he stared at Catherine, impressed she was remaining so unfazed.

"What time?"

"One. Kieran's gonna keep an eye on Carrigan and I'll meet him after."

Darragh had been hoping her appointment was early in the morning so he could go with her. Painfully aware that the child she was carrying wasn't his, Darragh knew he'd have to step up if he wanted a life with Catherine. He tried not to let it depress him. Instead, he chose to see the brighter side of it.

"Ya plan on telling your Da and Jimmy anytime soon?"

"My Da, yes. Jimmy, absolutely not."

"Caitie," he sighed, "keepin' it from him-"

"Is the best thing ta do. If word gets out, think of that it'll do to Kerrianne, to Fiona. It'll humiliate my parents and my brothers."

On the surface, Darragh understood Catherine's rational. She had already dragged those six people through hell, this would devastate them even more. This was the only way Catherine could think to save face, but there was one person in the entire question who she was forgetting about. Herself. Darragh didn't want to see Catherine flounder her reputation even more.

"Ya can't do that. If people think you don't even know who the father is, they'll think of you as a whore and that isn't true."

"One of my court-martial charges is fraternization. They already believe I'm a whore. Besides, you're the one who told me yesterday that I shouldn't care about shite like that."

Swirling the whiskey in his glass, Darragh watched the last ice cube dissolve. He had said that only because he thought she would be including Jimmy in the equation. This wasn't how he intended his advice to be received.

"Have you even thought this through? When he finds out, your Da is gonna want a name. What are you gonna tell him?"

"When I was in California, there was a bloke-"

"You plan to pin it on one of the blokes from SOA? Honestly, you're bein' an eejit if ya think there's no way this type of news won't travel to SAMCRO. Then what are ya gonna do? Let the poor bastard believe he's got a wee one in Norn Iron?"

Catherine's silence told Darragh all he needed to know. Maybe she wasn't the woman of integrity he had thought she was. Times of crisis did show people's true colors and he felt as though he was seeing Catherine's. If this was how she planned to handle her pregnancy, then Darragh wasn't sure if he wanted her to be anything more than a subordinate. Who was to say she would be honest with him about anything.

He had nothing left to say. Swallowing the last of his whiskey, Darragh then stood up and grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair.

"Where you goin'?" Catherine asked, despairingly.

He patronized. "If it pleases the Crown, I'd like to go home an' get some sleep. I'll be in south Armagh, so can I trust you'll do yer job without fuckin' Jimmy, gettin' a court-martial or endin' up arrested while I'm gone?"

"Go fuck yourself, Darragh."

Even he knew that was a low blow. He didn't mean a word of it, but he was too repulsed with Catherine's decisions to care that he hurt her feelings. As he watched her storm from the kitchen up to her bedroom, Darragh was left conflicted.

How Catherine chose to handle her pregnancy and future was something he didn't have a say in. He just wished she would take a breath and think things over before going through with anything. Her impulsivity was what always got her into trouble in the first place. All he wanted was to see her make good decisions for the first time in her life.

Scratching a little deeper, Darragh knew his push to be involved was little more than wanting to make sure she didn't screw up. Admitting that he was not only empathetic for Jimmy but also jealous, tasted like acid on his tongue. Darragh didn't think it was fair of Catherine to be keeping a father from his child as his mother had done to him. Secrets always came out eventually. Keeping this quiet for the unforeseen future would only end up destroying everyone more.

But, what stung Darragh the most was knowing that once the truth did come out, Jimmy would push to part of the baby's life. He wasn't sure if he could stay in Belfast and watch Catherine raise a child with someone else. Especially when that someone was as odious as Jimmy.

Darragh wanted to chase Catherine up to her room, but his pride stopped him. He figured she wanted nothing to do with him, or else she wouldn't have left. Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Darragh headed out the backdoor to make the short walk home.

Laying in her bed, Catherine hugged one of her pillows. She kept her eyes glued to the door, praying with her mind, body, and soul that there would be a soft knock on the door. In the heat of the moment, running off seemed like the best idea as she just wanted to avoid a fight. Hearing Darragh say those things to her was crushing. She knew him as a man who didn't have a single cross bone in his body. Then she realized how stupid it was to think he would never snap like that. He was an IRA man—of course, he was angry. Unlike Jimmy, Darragh was just far better at directing his vexation towards their adversary.

If he had come up, Catherine wouldn't turn him away. As badly as she didn't want to fight, it was a fight that needed to happen. He never would have made a big deal of it if he didn't think she was making the wrong decision.

Still, she couldn't understand why Darragh had gotten so defensive about her idea of making people believe the father was someone from across the pond. Between the details of her court-martial slowly starting to leak, along with the clear fact that she'd never see any of the SAMCRO men again, it seemed like a nice easy way to wrap it.

And Darragh was wrong, word would never reach—True Army business stayed within the True Army, and SOA business stayed within SOA. As far as Catherine was concerned, this was True Army business.

Not one to back down from a fight, Catherine wouldn't be able to sleep unless she said her piece to Darragh. Tossing the pillow aside, she jumped out of bed and raced downstairs. Before she even reached the kitchen, she started talking,

"I don't expect ya-"

When she crossed the threshold to find he was gone, Catherine felt like she had been kicked in the gut. Her stomach rolled with nausea, she could feel bile burning the back of her throat. She had been so confident Darragh had stayed. He never walked away from a disagreement, but she changed the rules when she ran away and hid first. The blame couldn't be placed on him—she made him believe the conversation wasn't worth having.

Half-collapsing into a chair, Catherine hung her head. The moment those two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test, her intuition told her it would be yet another wedge keeping Darragh and her apart. She had wrecked Fiona's family with her selfish need to have Jimmy, it was only karma that the universe was keeping her from having what she wanted now.

They made better friends anyway.

* * *

Catherine grabbed her bag and keys, trying to sneak out before Patrick realized she was on the move. She felt awful for avoiding him as much as she had, but that was easier than lying to him if he asked where she was going.

Stepping out the front door, Catherine locked it. When she turned around, she couldn't believe who was there. Resting against the side of her car, Darragh wore a smile. His eyes were hidden behind a casual pair of aviator sunglasses.

They wouldn't be able to avoid each other forever because they enjoyed one another's company too much. It wasn't the first time they had quarreled, but it was usually about IRA operations.

Hearing Darragh make point of her past mistakes made her wonder if that's what he thought of her—someone who couldn't be trusted to stay out of trouble.

"I thought ya were supposed to be in south Armagh."

Darragh unfolded his arms and pulled her in once she was close enough. He planted a kiss on her lips to shut her up. Missing an arms dump was a rare occurrence for him, but making sure Catherine wasn't going to the Royal on her own took precedence. Plus, he had to apologize to her. Leaving on such an ugly note had been eating away at him for the night. He barely slept, and even got up and dressed at three in the morning to walk over and talk to her. The fear of Patrick beating his ass for upsetting Catherine stopped him.

"I'm an asshole and I'm sorry for sayin' that shite ta you last night. It wasn't fair-"

"No, you were right to say those things." Admitting defeat was tough for her. "I stayed up all night thinkin' and I realize it's selfish if I don't tell Jimmy. It would also be the worst mistake of my life to pin it on some other bloke. I made so many excuses during my relationship with Jimmy…it's time for me to _finally _grow the fuck up and take responsibility for what I've done."

"I wasn't bullshittin' when I said I'll be by your side. Every doctor's appointment, every ridiculously food cravin'. I'll even be there ta hold yer hair back when ya barf."

She chuckled at the adorning man, quickly blinking to subdue the tears. He was killing her with his ever-giving heart. "I don't want ya to feel like ya have to do it."

"I know; I just want to. I'm nearin' thirty and I'm ready to settle down. There's no one else I'd rather try and do that with than you."

"Jesus, Darragh. Why couldn't ye have said that to me, I don't know, five bloody years ago?"

"We weren't ready for each other." He took the sunglasses off his eyes and hooked them into the collar of his shirt. "You'd just gotten together with Lorcan, and I had a serious girl in Donegal. Then you needed to get Jimmy outta your system, and I was a total dick when I got out of Maghaberry. We both had a lot of growin' we still needed to do."

"Aye. Ya were a dick, so you were."

Darragh snorted at her agreement.

"Besides, ya don't even know if a relationship would work between us-" Catherine was cut off.

"I'm not askin' you to run down to St. Peters with me and get married. All I'm sayin' is that we owe it to ourselves to try. Somethin' grand can build between us and I know I'm not the only one who thinks that."

Catherine took a breath and averted her eyes to the street for a moment. He was right. That lust she had felt towards Jimmy had never been there with Darragh, and she mistook its absence as a sign there was nothing between them. It wasn't just sex that she had craving with him, it was an emotional connection that went deeper than sexual appetite.

Their story was the furthest thing from love at first sight, but in a strange way that filled Catherine with more hope. They had the foundation of friendship. She was curious to see where it could go from there.

"Let's do this, then. Let's try. But, Jimmy won't let me go easily, especially when he finds out about the baby." She warned.

Darragh wrapped an arm around her shoulders and slipped his aviators back on. "I had the UDA all over me in prison. I think I can handle Jimmy O'Phelan."

I don't know, Catherine thought, even the Ulster Defense Association dreads confrontation with Jimmy O'Phelan.

* * *

"Are ya sure you wanna be here?"

Sitting in the waiting room, Darragh looked at the handful of heavily pregnant women around them. He shifted slightly in the chair, feeling out of place in the sea of estrogen. The question was asking about more than just his comfort. All eyes had landed on them the moment they walked into the clinic. Catherine tried to ignore the hushed gossip, as she knew they were talking about her and Darragh showing up together.

"They're talkin' about us, ya know that right?" she asked.

Darragh rested his elbows on his knees, tapping his fingers on his mouth. Of course, he knew they were talking about them. The side glances made him feel as though he were an animal in a zoo. Not for a second did he regret his decision to come along with her because he couldn't imagine how she'd do, sitting there alone. Kicking his legs straight out and crossing them at the ankle, Darragh leaned back in the chair.

He lowered his voice so only Catherine could here him. "They're just tryin' ta figure out what you're doin' with a rare lowlife from Donegal. Even you were skittish of me when Liam brought me over."

"Honestly, that was because I couldn't understand ya. I wasn't sure if it was English ya were speakin', so I just smiled and nodded for the first two days."

Darragh didn't take offense to that. It had taken several months of living in Belfast for his thick Donegal brogue to dilute.

"What are ya thinkin' about?" he asked, noticing her expression of distress.

"Nothin' appropriate."

With the images from the other morning still running through Catherine's head, the only thing she had her mind on was taking him for a ride. Built like a heavyweight, Catherine knew he could annihilate her in bed. And the thought of that excited her to the core.

Leaning in, Darragh brought his lips to her ear. "As soon as we're done here, I'm takin' you back to mine where I'm gonna strip ya down and French kiss that sweet cunt of yours. If you're good, I'll let ya come."

Catherine's breath hitched and she was left struggling to formulate a basic thought. Sure, she had been spoken to like that before, but hearing it come from Darragh burned her cheeks.

Inside the cramped room, Catherine hopped up on the padded bed. With Darragh seated in the plastic chair directly across from her, she could sense the tension radiating off of him. He was going above and beyond what she could ever want from him, but she had to admit his presence did bring her comfort. If Jimmy were there, all he'd do is stress her out.

A technician took more blood from Catherine. She didn't have an issue with needles—as was evident by her tattoos—but it was the whole idea of watching her blood spurting into the plastic tube that made her squeamish. Keeping her eyes on Darragh the entire time, he eased her anxiety by making silly gestures behind the technician's back.

Once that was done, it was explained to Catherine in full detail what was to come next. Just as she had pulled up her shirt and unbuttoned her jeans to expose her belly, the doctor came in.

"I'm glad to see you've brought the boyfriend," Doctor Gallagher smiled, squirting cold jelly onto Catherine's stomach.

Catherine let out a bit of an awkward laugh, and Darragh stayed silent. During the short walk to the antenatal clinic at the Royal, they completely avoided the conversation on how people would think he was the father.

As the doctor brought the ultrasonic wand down on her belly, Catherine wasn't paying attention to the screen, she was focused on Darragh. He moved the chair beside Catherine, his eyes never once leaving the screen. Sliding her hand into his, she locked their fingers.

"Right there." She snapped her head, following Doctor Gallagher's finger to a jellybean sized spec. "There's the wee one."

Catherine burst out into both tears and laughter as she covered her mouth with her hand. "That's my baby?"

"That's your baby," the doctor confirmed, matching Catherine's enthusiasm.

Darragh's breath seized. Watching that little speck on the screen made him realize for the first time how much he wanted one of his own. For a man who lived life as fast-and-loose as he did, he never thought children were a good idea. As an IRA man, he knew the chances of leaving a wife abandoned or widowed were high, and he couldn't bring himself to put a woman he loved in that position. But, as he saw the excitement wash over Catherine, he could feel it too.

"About how far along am I?"

"I would say, eight weeks." Grabbing her pocket calendar, she gave Catherine an estimated due date.

As the doctor was finishing up and telling Catherine when she should schedule the next appointment, Darragh held the sonogram that had been handed to him. There was only thought in his head—no way could Jimmy ever know he's the father.


	26. Two Can Keep a Secret

Holding the sonogram in her lap, Catherine sat on the sofa waiting for Patrick to get home. She couldn't hide the secret anymore, not after seeing the baby for the first time.

There was no way this news wouldn't bring about fireworks and there was no way for her to mentally prepare for them. She just planned to sit there and take the lecture without a peep, and agree to comply with any arrangements Patrick wanted to make.

Telling her parents separately was the best way to go about it. Catherine knew Olivia well enough to conclude that she would be just as thrilled about it as she had been about Liam and Shauna. Letting Patrick get the anger out of his system before Olivia arrived home, would allow her mom to enjoy the excitement.

Without fail, the deadbolt to the front door popped at four p.m. In walked Patrick, and then followed Liam. A guest she hadn't been expecting.

Oh, shit, Catherine thought.

Deciding that telling her dad with Liam there probably wasn't the best idea, she quickly shoved the sonogram under her ass. She hoped she was fast enough and they hadn't noticed.

Collapsing onto the love seat, Liam immediately took off his work boots as Patrick venerated into the kitchen for two Coke's from the fridge. He handed one to his son before sitting down beside Catherine.

"How was your day?" Patrick asked, popping open his can.

"Fine."

Patrick didn't think much of Catherine's extremely vague answer. Aside from when she needed his advice on anything she was working on, Catherine never discussed her operations with him. The less he knew, the better.

Before she could turn to her brother and—politely—ask him why he was there and not home with his wife and baby, she heard the rumble of Harley pipes right outside. From the open blinds, Catherine watched Brien dismount his motorcycle.

_What the actual fuck?_ She screamed internally.

Four times in the last week Catherine had tried to get them all together for dinner. The one night she needed to get Patrick alone, was the one night they wanted to stop by.

SAMBEL had been keeping Brien busy as of late, so he was looking forward to a quiet night and a hot meal. Once in the house, he kissed his sister's cheek, before hugging his father and slagging with Liam. Catherine shook her head when his second stop was to the kitchen, grabbing a container of leftovers and plopping down on the couch beside Liam.

Trying to stay focused on the conversation the three men having, all Catherine could think about was the sonogram sitting beneath her. Maybe telling all of them at once wouldn't be such a bad idea. Her brother's had always been fiercely protective of her, so it saved Catherine the trouble of having to tell individually. At least all three of them would be able to blow up at once. The problem with that though, there was no predicting what they would do and she could never talk them out of anything once their minds were set.

"So, Catherine," Brien said, grabbing her attention. "O'Neill's ol' lady said she saw ye at the Royal the other day. Everythin' okay?"

She wanted to die. Curl up into a ball and die. After all, this was said and done, she planned to find O'Neill's old lady and punch her in the mouth to make sure she couldn't say another word again.

There was no way Catherine could get out of this—the jig was up. Time to stand up and face the consequences. Reaching for the sonogram, she held eye contact with Patrick as she set it on the coffee table.

"I'm pregnant."

A silence fell upon the room. Brien closed the lid of the container he had been eating from. Liam's eyes bugged and his jaw nearly fell to the floor. Though, it was Patrick's lack of response that scared Catherine half to death.

Patrick refused to look at her. He kept his gaze on the sonogram sitting not even two feet in front of him.

Her lower lip began to tremble and her heart raced. She figured this was when Patrick would tell her to gather her things and head back to the Short Strand.

There were no fireworks. The three men just exchanged glances to one another.

Liam slipped his boots back on and leaned down to tie up the laces, slapping his hands on his thighs when he finished.

"We goin?"

The green-light was given when Patrick stood up, fishing his keys from his pocket. Time slowed for Catherine as she watched her father head for the door, her brother's following close behind. Just as the last foot stepped outside, it clicked and she realized where they were headed.

Darting up, Catherine chased them down to the street.

"Don't do this. He's not worth it!"

Her words fell onto deaf ears. Once Liam and Brien started to get into the car, Patrick pointed his key at Catherine. "You stay here."

Catherine was never good at listening. As Patrick started the engine and pulled into traffic, she dashed in the house and slipped her feet into her gym shoes. Then, she grabbed her bag, taking off in a full sprint down the street to Darragh's.

She needed back up.

Pounding on his front door, Catherine called out his name. It felt like half a century before he answered. A part of her was afraid that he had left for Armagh, so she had never been so happy to see him. Unfortunately, she was out of breath and it took her longer to get her words out.

"I told them about the baby. I think they're headed ta O'Malley's, lookin' for Jimmy."

"Did they say anythin?"

"No, they just took off."

"Fuck," Darragh muttered. He grabbed his keys and boots, putting them on as he hurried to the car.

He never told Catherine about the change of heart he had at the clinic. Had he expected her to tell Patrick, Liam, and Brien that afternoon, he would have told her to wait until they could come up with a better plan. It irritated him through the bone to know Patrick was about to unknowingly ruin everything.

The Short Strand wasn't a far drive from the Falls, but it had never seemed longer to Catherine. Although Darragh appeared calm and collected on the outside, he was fuming with rage within. It quickly became clear why Catherine had been so hesitant at first to tell Patrick. He had never experienced the famous O'Toole rage first-hand, but he never expected it drive the men to act this rashly.

In a race to make it there either before, or at the same time as them, Darragh squeezed Catherine's thigh as a gesture of reassurance.

"It's gonna be fine. We'll get there just as they are, and I'll talk with your Da."

"That won't happen." She didn't want to seem like a dramatic pessimist, but it was the truth. "You're about to see an entirely new side of my Da and it's not pretty. When he gets like this, there's no stoppin' him."

"Then what's the plan here?"

"I've no fuckin' idea."

Not thinking this far ahead before telling them fell on her shoulders. There should have been a plan in place as it wasn't so far fetched to think Patrick would go looking for Jimmy. All Catherine knew was that she had to keep Patrick as far away from Jimmy as possible. She feared his big mouth, not than his fists. He could beat Jimmy to a pulp for all she cared, she just didn't want him spilling the news of her pregnancy just yet.

Pulling up to O'Malley's pub, Catherine jumped out first and Darragh found a spot to park. She couldn't find Patrick's car which she took as a good sign.

For the most part, the pub was empty when she raced it. She said a silent prayer, thankful not very many people were around to hear Patrick surely announce her pregnancy. She looked around quickly, frustrated when she saw neither her father or Jimmy. Behind the bar, Adam Pierce dried pint glasses. He stopped his playful banter with a couple of Provo sympathizers when he noticed Catherine red-faced and out of breath.

"Ye lookin' for Paddy?"

"Aye! You see him?"

Seamus nodded. "He and those brothers of yers came in, huffin'-an'-puffin', lookin' for Jimmy, so they were. Sent them over to the Cracked Cup-Jimmy's drinkin' over there."

Catherine thanked Seamus for the tip before turning on her heels. She smacked right into Darragh, who wasted no time in grabbing her hand and leading out the door. The Cracked Cup was only a few streets down.

Patrick entered the pub with his son's close behind him. His blood was boiling and the boys were surprised steam wasn't shooting from his ears.

At the bar, Jimmy sat drinking a pint while smoking and laughing with several lads. Seeing him go about his life without a care in the world only enraged Patrick more. Under the assumption that Jimmy knew about Catherine being pregnant, he wondered what kind of man could virtually ruin someone's life and then carry on without an ounce of guilt.

In a small space full of Provos, Patrick knew he had to play it cool if he wanted to get anywhere near Jimmy. So, he calmly wove his way through the maze of tables before grabbing Jimmy by the collar of his jacket and the back of his neck.

In an instant, the gates of Hell swung open. Patrick unleashed every ounce of indignation swelling in his body. In a full pub, no one quite knew how to react when Patrick dragged Jimmy off his barstool and smashed his face into one of the framed photos on the wall. A few men stumbled off their barstools to intervene, but Liam and Brien stepped in to prevent that from happening.

Spinning Jimmy around, Patrick filled with a fleeting satisfaction to see his face cut and bloodied from the broken frame.

The pub fell silent as Patrick finally spoke.

"I should'a fuckin' killed you the first night I found out ya put your hands on my baby girl. Ya proud of yourself? Humiliating her like this."

Jimmy wiped the blood away from his nose. "What the fuck are ya talk about?"

The ignorance only insulted Patrick and resulted in him punching Jimmy in the eye. Catherine had arrived just in time to see her father deliver the blow. The force of Patrick's fist had split the skin above his eyebrow and small beads of dark red blood bubbled. Darragh had grabbed Catherine's forearm when she leaped forward to try and break things up between her father and Jimmy. Not wanting to be held back, she ripped his hand off of her and reached over Liam's shoulder to grab Patrick's shirt.

"Da, stop! He doesn't-"

Before she had a chance to tell him that Jimmy didn't know, Patrick opened Pandora's Box.

"Don't fuckin' play stupid with me now." His voice was hoarse as he choked up. Patrick was more-so on the verge of tears as he thought about what Jimmy had done to his daughter.

Catherine dug her nails into Patrick's shoulder, trying to get his attention. She was fighting Liam and Brien who were pushing her away, and Darragh, who had his arms wrapped around her, pulling.

"Ya fuckin' knocked her up, Jimmy."

The moment those words left Patrick's mouth, Jimmy moved his gaze to Catherine. His heart instantly fell into his stomach, his lungs seized.

Catherine—his mo chuisle—was carrying their child. Every bone in Jimmy's body turned to Jell-O. He was going to be a father. The room began to fade in and out. Around him, the conversations because fuzzy and everyone moved in slow motion. Patrick pulled at the lapels of his jacket, jerking him back and forth, but all Jimmy could focus on was Brien, who had picked Catherine up off of her feet after she screamed something at Patrick. He came crashing back to reality when Darragh put his arm between him and Patrick.

"Let him go, Patrick."

"Give me one reason why I should let this piece of shit go."

"Because he's not the father."

Confused, Patrick's gaze darted between Darragh and Jimmy. Then he looked at his daughter. "Who the fuck is?"

"I am," Darragh said, without hesitation.

Darragh hadn't planned any of this. He shocked even himself, though he fully understood what consequences now lay ahead of him. In a split-second decision, he branded himself as the father of Catherine's baby without even talking it over with her. Catherine was too stunned to even wrap her head around what had just been uttered.

"Is he really the father?" Liam asked Catherine.

She wished Darragh had given her a heads-up before deciding on his own to do that. While she was nowhere near thrilled, she wasn't going to back out of it either. Eyeing Jimmy for a brief moment, Catherine didn't feel the slightest bit sorry for that man.

"Aye."

Brien dropped Catherine to her feet when she answered.

Releasing Jimmy, Patrick quickly grabbed Darragh and maneuvered his arms behind his back. Darragh knew what was coming and there was nothing he could do other than to take it.

The eldest of the O'Toole children stood in front of his best friend. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to figure out how it had gotten past him that Catherine and Darragh were involved. A newlywed with a new baby would easily alienate one from most of the outside world. In all actuality, Liam didn't mind the two of them together, he just felt betrayed that after everything he had done for Darragh, this was how he repaid him. Never in his life had Liam wanted to beat someone's head in as badly as he wanted to bash Darragh's.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?

"I wasn't thinkin-"

"Well, obviously ya weren't because you were too busy shaggin' my sister."

"Liam," Catherine interjected, "he didn't tell you because I told him not to."

She knew for a fact that if her brother thought Darragh had kept it quiet at her request, it would save him from the beat down. Watching Liam take a deep breath and unclench his fist brought relief to her.

"How long?"

Darragh remembered the doctor had told Catherine she was eight weeks along. "Only a few months."

There was only one person in that room who knew that was a complete lie. Either way, Jimmy kept his mouth shut. He dabbed the blood away from his nose and eyebrow, staring Darragh down.

"You're gonna take care of her and the baby, right? And you're not gonna fuckin' dip the second things start gettin' difficult. Because believe me, life's about to get way more difficult."

Turning his head to look at Catherine, Darragh warmly smiled at her. "I'm gonna do everythin' I can to take care of them. And I promise I'm not goin' anywhere."

Jimmy hated the way those two looked at one another. It wasn't because their soft gaze was filled with butterflies and happiness. It was because they looked at each other with reality, and a fairytale was somewhere awaiting them.

Roughly, Liam grabbed the collar of Darragh's shirt, jarring him. He wasn't the slightest bit intimidated by his friend, he just didn't feel like getting his ass beat.

"Just know, if it were anyone else, I would punch their goddamn teeth in. But, you're a good guy and I have faith that you'll do good by Catherine. Just remember this: if ya do fuck up, it's not me who'll come lookin' for ya. It's him."

Darragh swallowed hard at the thought of having to face Patrick for any reason now, after seeing how he had exploded on Jimmy. Too nervous about saying the wrong thing, he simply nodded and jumped when Patrick slapped a strong hand on his shoulder.

Patrick bellowed to the young bartender, "pints of Harp for the boys, and fizzy drinks for me and Catherine. We've got a lot of celebratin' ta do."


	27. Widening Gyre

Showered, feeling like a human again, Catherine made her way to the kitchen. She began to finish up washing the dishes that she had started before the monstrous wave of nausea had her running for the toilet. Reaching for one of the dirty coffee mugs, Catherine broke out into a wide smile when she realized which one it was.

Dropping the sponge into the hot soapy water, she ran a pruned thumb over the worn lettering.

_There's a Chance There's Whiskey in Here_.

She couldn't believe Darragh had kept the mug Catherine had given to him as a joke years ago.

Picking the sponge back up and resuming the washing, Catherine was surprised at how content she was falling into domestic life. Though she wasn't living full-time with him just yet, Darragh had found a modest place to rent near Divis Tower. She would move-in once she hit the twentieth week of pregnancy.

Not at all forgetting his responsibilities with the cause, that didn't stop him from focusing most of the daylight hours looking for a source of steady income. He was running into the same wall Liam had found himself stalled by—work was scarce. Especially for a working-class man with a lowly education, and convictions for murder and IRA membership hovering over his head.

Determined to help Darragh make ends meet, Catherine had taken up clerical work at the Sinn Fein office. Spending her days typing, filing, and answering phones was the least she felt she could do. Plus, it put her in the perfect position to start digging up information on the PSNI detective who had questioned her at Musgrave.

Though their relationship was still in its early stages, Catherine and Darragh were none at all staggered by how things had been working between them. For the first time, they both felt they had a true partner and were operating like a well-oiled machine.

They had long, difficult conversations about what their future would look like if they discovered there simply was no love between them. Darragh assured Catherine they would remain friends and he would stick by her side. He had no intentions of backing out now. Even she was determined to make it work as she couldn't imagine being with another man at this point.

Sticking to his word, Darragh took her to appointments at the clinic, he held her hair back at five in the morning when the sickness overtook, and he even made a point of keeping his cabinets stocked with whatever food she was craving that week.

Rinsing the mug and placing it into the drying rack, she reached for a plate when she heard the front door squeak open and slam shut. Catherine dropped the plate into the sink, excited to finally get some alone time with Darragh. Grabbing the towel, she started to dry her hands.

"That was quick. I wasn't expectin' you until-"

The towel slipped from her hands, landing on the floor when she saw who it was walking into the kitchen. Her stomach instantly started somersaulting, a chill surged through her body, and her eye started to twitch when his voice rang out.

"Surprised to see you're still stayin' here with your parents."

His skin was sun-kissed from having spent the last five weeks in the Middle East and Northern Africa. His voice dripped with condescension.

Catherine began to round the table, trying to keep the distance between them. She was terrified of what he would do if he got his hands on her. Thinking that he wasn't beyond upset with her would be stupid. The confrontation was a long time coming, but with him being gone for over a month on business, she and Darragh had let their guards down.

Catherine could see it in his eyes—the betrayal, the pain, the disbelief. It wasn't enough for her to regret her decision.

"Ya need to leave, Jimmy." Her voice was shaking and laced with thick anxiety. "Darragh'll be here any minute."

He laughed, amused she thought he was intimidated by Darragh.

"I just wanna talk."

"There's nothin' for us to talk about."

Catherine refused to take her eyes off Jimmy. He nonchalantly took a seat at the table.

"Why are you lyin'?"

"I'm not lyin'."

It startled Catherine when Jimmy slammed his fist down on the table. The fury was radiating off of him and she could see his jaw flexing as he clenched it. He wasn't interested in dealing with her stubbornness. By doubling down, she was only digging herself into a deeper hole.

"Contrary to what you may think, I'm not a fuckin' eejit. You're not gonna keep my child from me."

"Even if you were the one who knocked me up, they would never call you Da."

She knew it was a mistake to say that the second those words left her mouth. Memories of what happened the last Jimmy lost his temper came flooding back.

He stood up with so much force, it sent the chair falling. When he started to close the distance between them, Catherine panicked when she realized she unintentionally cornered herself. Before she had a chance to find another way out, Jimmy grabbed hold of her hair. His fingers gripped the roots tightly and he roughly pushed Catherine against the wall.

"Please, please don't hurt me!" She began to scream and cry, and Jimmy ignored her.

"I know that baby is mine, Catherine! Why are you tryin' to keep me out of my child's life? You're more of a halfwit than I thought if you think I'll stand around and watch another man raise my child!"

"This is why. You're fuckin' outta control; your anger gets the best of you. I will never allow my child to know what kind of monster their father is."

Her words pierced his soul. He slammed the back of her head against the wall, twice. "I will be involved; you hear me?"

"Darragh and I will leave Ireland if that means keepin' our family safe. I swear to God we will!"

_Our family. _Jimmy felt like he had been punched in the gut. As long as he was still alive and well, he would never allow her to leave the six counties.

"If you don't come clean and tell everyone that I'm the father, your life will be an absolute livin' Hell. What I do to Darragh, will make Filip's face look like nothin' more than a scratch. And this time, I won't fuckin' stop until I know he's taken his last breath."

Hearing Jimmy threaten Darragh, upset Catherine the most. She could handle the warnings against her life, but not his. Not when he was nothing more than an innocent bystander in this catastrophic mess.

She thrashed in an attempt to get free from his hold, but he only pulled harder on her hair.

He continued, "Then, I will make sure your days in the IRA are done, and you will never find another job in Norn Iron ever again. You'll end up livin' out your days destitute in Divis Tower."

"That's how ya plan on treatin' the mother of your baby? Widowed and penniless."

Jimmy opened his mouth to speak, but it was Darragh's voice she heard.

"You mother fucker!"

Dropping the greasy bag of fish and chips, Darragh curled his arm around Jimmy's neck and pulled him off Catherine. Finally, free from him, she slid down the wall to the floor. Holding a shaky hand over her mouth, she watched the two men scuffle. Darragh had four-inches and at least fifty-pounds on Jimmy so it was hardly a contest. Before Catherine could wipe the tears from her cheeks, Darragh had Jimmy on his knees.

"The next time you come within two feet of her, I will fuckin' beat your ass. Don't test me, because I am not bluffin'. Go home to Fiona and leave Catherine alone."

Because Darragh had Jimmy in a chokehold, he slapped his hand against Darragh's bicep to show he understood what he had been told. He didn't accept it in the slightest, but he also didn't want to inflame Darragh, who was flying on adrenaline. A small part of Jimmy respected him for sticking up for Catherine the way he did. No way he would even admit that aloud, though.

Letting Jimmy go, Darragh told him to leave. Defeated, he did. Both men knew a grueling conversation was waiting for them.

Dropping in front of Catherine, Darragh pulled her into him. As they wrapped their arms around one another, she buried her face into the curve of his neck. She instantly broke out into a fit of tears, relieved to be in his warm, safe embrace. He just let her cry, knowing there wasn't anything he could say to soothe her. Pressing his lips to her temple, Darragh's heart broke thinking of the torment she had endured over the last few years. In some respect, he felt complicit as he never bothered stepping in when he knew it was getting worse.

"Why won't he just leave me alone?"

"He's a man who constantly needs to feel in control. Unfortunately, for too long you let him have control over you and even you said it yourself—he's not gonna let you go easily."

Catherine clenched her fists and pounded on his chest. The thought of constantly having to watch over her shoulder almost drove her mad. "No! We can't live like this, Darragh. As long as he's in Belfast, we can't be here."

It killed him to see how deep Jimmy had burrowed under her skin. It killed him, even more, to hear her imply they should leave Belfast. Not only was this the only place she had ever called home, but there was nowhere else he wanted to be either.

Jimmy's threat had Catherine wanting to pack up that night. Though, she had to play it cool and not tell Darragh what had been said to her. She wasn't sure if Jimmy was bluffing, so what good would it do to tell him?

"Don't start with that shite. I know your hormones are all over the place, so I'm here to knock sense back into you when ya start talkin' nonsense. We're not goin' anywhere, because he's havin' a tantrum—he'll get over it."

"It's not that simple. What he did to Filip, I'm afraid he'll do-"

"To me? There's no need for you to worry about that."

Catherine was frustrated that she wasn't getting through to him. "He got away with it with Filip, he'll get away with it again."

"Leadership is a lot different now, than what it was when the True Army first formed. The punishment for offing another volunteer is death. For someone in Jimmy's position, it's certain and he knows that. He's so close to becoming Chief of Staff, he won't do anything to fuck that up."

Taking a deep breath, she thought it over. Ten years ago, the True Army was close to anarchy as they worked to form structure. Things volunteers had once gotten away with, were not grounds for court-martial. She also knew Jimmy was too selfish to give up his opportunity to become the fifth highest-ranking officer, just one peg below the Irish Kings.

"You're right." She curled her fingers along the ends on his shaggy black locks. "Besides, you've pissed off so many people on either side of the wall, I should be more worried about the IPLA or UVF."

Smirking, Darragh tilted Catherine's chin so he could capture her lips for a long-awaited kiss. He could feel her melt and relax.

"What do you say we take the food back to mine? I picked up a couple of movies for us to watch, too."

Catherine nodded. "Sounds like a perfect night to me."

After having spent the last two days in Dundalk, he looked forward to spending the night with his girl. Even if that meant she knocked out before nine. As long as her head was on his chest, he was the happiest man in the world.

* * *

In the Short Strand, Jimmy drank straight from a bottle of whiskey as he flipped on the light to Catherine's former bedroom. It looked the same as the day she left over a month ago.

Walking to the nightstand, he picked up the picture frame. The smiling face of him and Catherine made him snicker. He tried to wrap his mind around how he could have fallen in love with such a deceitful whore. With Catherine, he always let his guard down against his better judgment and all she did was play him for a fool.

Now, he felt furious and humiliated. Surely people wouldn't be stupid enough to believe the half-cocked lie that there were mutual feelings between Catherine and Darragh. He couldn't be the only one who noticed they regarded one another as nothing but friends. The way they fought and teased each other reminded Jimmy of her interactions with Liam and Brien. He did look forward to watching her stumble and fall in explaining the entire situation when the baby was born and ended up looking like Jimmy.

He wondered if she had ever loved him or if it was all for show. Jimmy figured she had latched on to him to boost her esteem in the True Army. For the material possessions, he showered her with and the vacations.

She said the only reason why she ended things, was because he couldn't control his anger. But, what he couldn't seem to make her understand was that it had been her actions that instigated him. For a majority of the time they spent together, Catherine had done what she was told and kept the attitude at bay. It seemed only when Darragh had made commander and came sniffing around her, did she start to fight Jimmy on everything.

Tossing the frame, Jimmy took another shot from the bottle. He sat on the floor with his back resting against the bed. Out of sheer curiosity, he pulled open the bottom drawer of her nightstand. To his surprise, the only thing in there was an old shoebox. Setting the bottle aside, Jimmy pulled it out and dropped it between his legs. Flipping the top off, he started to dig through it.

Innocent enough, it seemed to be nothing more than a keepsake box. Old ticket stubs to movies and concerts. Shell casings, presumably from when they had gone shooting together. Faded photos of her childhood. There was one in particular that caught Jimmy's attention. He turned it over and saw Olivia's handwriting—Catherine Mary & Jimmy 25/12/1984.

Looking at the photo of Catherine sitting on his lap as he helped her rip open a Christmas gift, brought him back in time. He wondered what happened to the buoyant little girl with a massive mane of bright orange ringlets and shining blue eyes.

The Troubles and the True Irish Republican Army; that's what happened to her.

Jimmy slipped that photo into the inside pocket of his suit jacket as he picked up a very thick stack of open envelopes. Pulling off the rubber band, he eyes the return address on the first envelope. HMP Maghaberry.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?"

There were hundreds of letters from the maximum-security prison, all addressed to Catherine in Darragh's left-handed writing. Jimmy had no idea she had been corresponding with him while he was locked up. Had Jimmy known, he would have put an end to it right away, only because her association with a convicted IRA man could have been detrimental to her future.

Unfolding the first letter, Jimmy grabbed the bottle of whiskey as he started reading. He couldn't help laughing at how pathetic Darragh sounded. The way Darragh wrote about how much he missed the sound of her voice and laughter, the smile in her eyes, made Jimmy gag.

This was how he wrote to a girl he knew nothing about?

Tossing it aside, he randomly chose a letter from the middle of the stack. He cleared his throat, humorously reading it aloud, expecting something even more gag-inducing. But, that wasn't at all what he got.

"I think of how things could have been if only I hadn't left that night. But what can we do about it now? Pray for peace, Catherine, just as I do. I'm lost without you. Sometimes, I close my eyes and try to remember the feeling of your hands caressing my face, your lips against mine. I know you're hurting as much as I am, and I'm sorry for putting you through this. I miss you so much."

Jimmy couldn't finish reading it. Balling up the paper in his fists, he reminded himself of the date. April 1997—well before he and Catherine had slept together for the first time. Now he wondered if she had lied to him about being a virgin. She and Darragh had a past Jimmy didn't have the slightest clue about.

He picked up another stack and realized these were letters Catherine had never sent. As he read through them, there was no amount of alcohol that could numb the disloyalty he felt. Fury bubbled in his veins. They were all written after Jimmy and Catherine had solidified their relationship. Halfway through the pile, he threw the bottle of whiskey against the wall before tossing everything back into the box. Tucking it under his arm, he jogged down the stairs, slamming the front door shut once he was outside.

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him," Jimmy mumbled, fumbling with his pack of cigarettes. "I'm gonna kill him, and then I'm gonna fuckin' kill her."


	28. Bloody Knuckles

Unlocking the back door, Jimmy was looking forward to a hot shower before falling face-first into bed. He was exhausted. Every muscle in his body ached and his eyes throbbed, threatening to burst from his skull.

The second he walked through the door, he was greeted with the pungent aroma of smoke. All the lights were off but he could see the glow of a burning cigarette coming from the spot where the table was tucked against the wall. There was only one reason why Fiona would have waited up for him, but he wasn't in the mood to entertain another fight about Catherine.

"Go to bed," he said, flipping on the light.

Except, it wasn't Fiona and it startled Jimmy to see who was sitting in his kitchen.

"How the fuck did you get in here?"

Crushing his cigarette in the ashtray, Darragh blew the smoke from his nostrils while reaching into his back pocket. Onto the table, he tossed a loose key. The key Jimmy had given to Catherine. Drinking the last of the clear liquid from the glass, Darragh's face didn't so much as pucker when the intense burn lit up his chest and sinuses. From the bottle sitting on the table, Jimmy stiffened when he realized Darragh was drinking the vodka he had been gifted during a trip to Moscow.

"For a man who's wanted internationally, I'm honestly shocked you don't change your locks very often."

Resting back in the chair, Darragh propped his foot upon his knee. Jimmy swiped the bottle off the table and poured himself three fingers. After taking a sip, he lit a cigarette. Conversation with Darragh was the last thing he wanted, ever since reading the letters, Darragh had sent Catherine from prison.

"We've nothing to talk about. It's between me and Catherine."

"See, that's where you're wrong."

He wanted to punch that smug expression off Darragh's face. Who the fuck did he think he was? Intelligent and fearless—some would argue that he was as ruthless as Jimmy—Darragh had a quiet presence in Belfast. A decade ago, he had been the mastermind behind successful raids in the most secure loyalist neighborhoods and ambushes on British patrols, yet only a handful of people knew he was IRA. His thirst for bloodshed and unwavering loyalty had once been enough for Darragh to hold Jimmy's utmost respect. That all changed two years ago when Jimmy realized he was staring at the one man who could rip the Chief of Staff position out from right under his feet.

"Are you here to show me how tough you are and assert yourself as the almighty man in Catherine's life?"

"Somewhat. Things are flux, Jimmy, and changin' whether you like it or not. I understand that you two have a deep past, though the only future you have with her, is as her senior commander. I love Paddy and Liam as if they were me own blood, but they were cowards when it came to standin' up to you. I'm givin' you one warning—do not be around or speak to Catherine unless it's about business. If you see her walkin' down the same side of the street as you, ya best cross the bloody road. If you're with Fiona and Kerrianne and they stop to talk with her, you excuse yourself. If I find out you're still comin' around, I will gladly sit in front of a court-martial and explain to them why I broke your teeth on the goddamn curb."

"Yeah, we'll see how long it takes her to come crawling back to me. She's been doin' shite like-"

"I've already had that conversation with her." Darragh got up, inching his way towards Jimmy. "You were nothin' but a phase for her while I was gone. If I had known you were the bloke she ended up with when I told her not to spend ten years waitin' for me, I never would've bloody said that. Thought she was talkin' about the McInnes boy. She's genuinely happy for the first time in her life and I'll be damned if you try to swoop in and fuck it all up for her."

Jimmy took a swig from the bottle as he eyed Darragh. As he digested those words, Jimmy painfully realized what Catherine had written in un-sent letters to Darragh was true. He had always been led to believe that he was her first love. Rather, the man who had captured Catherine's heart, and the man she wished she could have lost her virginity to, was standing in front of him. It only ticked him off more to have Darragh throw that back in his face.

Clearing his throat, Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. "You've got that IPLA operation comin' up next week. I wonder how long it'll take her to show up at my front door if you were to end up at Maghaberry again."

Darragh lunged at Jimmy. There was one thing Jimmy had that Darragh didn't, and that was combat training. Before Darragh could grab him, Jimmy blocked the blow and wrapped his arms around Darragh's neck in a sleeper hold. The sudden decrease of oxygen brought Darragh to his knees and left him lightheaded. He knew he should have expected nothing less from a man like Jimmy. Though, Jimmy did loosen the hold slightly, not wanting him to completely pass out.

"Can't just fight me like a man, O'Phelan? You know I'll kick your fuckin' ass, you pussy."

"I'll never forget the beautiful look on Catherine's face when I made her come for the first time. Or how she breathlessly said my name over and over and over, as I ate her out before poppin' her cherry."

Darragh clamped his teeth down on his lower lip, hard enough to almost draw blood. Being forced to listen to Jimmy retell every gory detail about his sexual exploits with Catherine tore him to shreds. His chest filled with a dull achy pain as his heart broke. He blamed himself for being the one who pushed her into Jimmy's arms. The attempts to jerk free were unsuccessful and Jimmy gloated in getting under Darragh's skin.

"You've got a lot of nerve talkin' like that about her."

"For a virgin, she was a brilliant shag. Hopped right on and rode me like a champ. Some of the things she let me do to her would make the Devil blush."

Balling his hand into a fist, Darragh hit Jimmy as hard as he could in the ribcage. He was so angry, Darragh was near tears.

Despite the throbbing pain and having the wind nearly knocked out of him, Jimmy kept on taunting. "Caitie's a fuckin' whore. That's all she'll ever be."

Darragh squeezed his eyes shut, tears leaking out of the corners. His heart pounded and his limbs tingled with numbness as vivid images of Catherine being dominated flashed in his brain.

"Let him go, Jimmy."

Both men turned their heads to see Fiona standing in the threshold of the kitchen. She clenched the collar of her robe. The distressed expression on her face telling them she had overhead every word Jimmy said.

After a moment of hesitation, Jimmy released Darragh from the chokehold. Fiona refused to make eye contact with Jimmy, feeling like a fool for believing him when he said he was over Catherine. Hearing him speak about her that way to Darragh, told Fiona all she needed to know. Standing up, Darragh gave Fiona a sympathetic nod. Everyone was trying to move on with their lives, but Jimmy refused to move on from the past.

Turning to leave the kitchen, Fiona offered Darragh a bit of advice. "He's slow on his left side."

Thankfully, Darragh was quick to understand what Fiona was telling him. By the time Jimmy realized what she said, Darragh delivered a solid left uppercut to his jaw. For the next punch, Darragh faked right before going left. He socked Jimmy with enough force to send him to the ground. As a cherry on top, Darragh kicked him twice in the ribs.

Looking down at Jimmy doubled over and struggling to catch his breath, Darragh wanted to tell him about all things he planned to do to Catherine once home. But, he kept his nerve. Catherine didn't deserve to be used as a sexual pawn. To him, she deserved the utmost respect.

After grabbing his cigarettes off the table, Darragh stepped over Jimmy and headed out the door. All he wanted was to be home, with Catherine.

* * *

Back in west Belfast, Catherine was curled on the sofa with a cup of tea and _What to Expect When You're Expecting. _Hearing the lock to the front door pop, she glanced at the clock thankful he had come home sooner than expected. He had told her he was meeting his mates for a few pints. Seeing Darragh walk inside, Catherine lit up brighter than a sunny day. She smiled so wide, her cheeks ached.

Not even bothering to take his boots off at the door, Darragh walked straight to Catherine. He took the mug and book from her hands, ignoring her questions as he placed them on the coffee table. He shut her up with such a smoldering kiss, it left Catherine breathless and fluttering. When Darragh pulled away, she rested her forehead against his as she placed her hand on the back of his neck.

"You're home early. I wasn't expectin' you until at least half one."

He captured her lips for another torrid kiss, this time sitting beside her and swiftly pulling her onto his lap. She broke the kiss, giggling.

Darragh gave her the one thing she had ever wanted—he made her feel desired. He was different from Lorcan and Jimmy in all the right ways. When he spoke, Catherine found desires she didn't even know she had. When he touched her, she knew he would give her everything. Her need for Darragh was like a constant ache.

His lips attacked her neck. Kissing, sucking, biting. Catherine's thoughts faded as she ran her fingers through his hair. Her attention was unfocused, yet she was completely relaxed. When he sank his teeth roughly into the flesh under her ear, Catherine took in a sharp breath and arched her back.

"What's gotten into you?" she joked.

Pushing back the loose strands of hair from his eyes, Darragh placed a hand on Catherine's breast, pinching the nipple. This was the first time she had seen him with such animalistic focus.

"Can you do me a favor?"

She nodded and he slipped his index into her mouth. "Let your guard down for me."

They had only been together for two months, still getting used to the budding romance. In a relationship where they had for so long pretended to be just friends, they were both apprehensive to allow the sexual aspect to flourish. The sex was mind-blowing and they had incredible chemistry between the sheets, but they were both painfully aware they were holding back. Darragh wanted to be the one man she felt comfortable enough to let her inhibitions go with, as he wanted to push boundaries with her.

Catherine locked eyes with Darragh. All logical sense left him as he felt her tongue swirl around his finger. Underneath her, she felt his cock twitch when her cheeks hollowed and she sucked gently. A reason why Catherine had been remaining bashful in bed, was because she didn't want Darragh wondering what she had learned from Jimmy. She owed it not only to him but to herself to let go.

Removing his finger from her mouth, Catherine jumped to her feet and grabbed Darragh's hand. She led him upstairs to their bedroom. As she undressed, he sat on the bed and silently watched. When she finished, Catherine half-covered herself, suddenly feeling shy. She had been nude in front of men many times before, but with Darragh, she felt naked.

From the laundry basket, Catherine snatched one of her knee-high socks. It would do in a pinch. Darragh looked at her quizzically as she handed it to him, but it didn't take long for him to see where this was going. Turning around, she held her hands behind her back.

"You sure you wanna do this?" he asked.

Peering over her shoulder, she smirked at him. "Do your worst."

She filled with excitement as Darragh began to tie the sock around her wrists. When it was secure, he stood up and grabbed Catherine by the back of the neck, shoving her face down onto the mattress. Having her in the submissive position unleashed the hedonist that was clawing free in Darragh. He ran a single finger up and down the length of her spine, as he toed off his boots and unsnapped his jeans. Catherine closed her eyes, focusing only on his touch as she was unsure of what to expect. She softly moaned when she felt his large hand move down and caress the slope of her ass.

Jimmy was right, Darragh thought. Catherine was a whore. But, she was going to be _his _whore.

Just as Catherine began to relax, she felt the smack of his bare hand against her bottom. The loud crack echoed throughout the small room. She cried out with a mix of lasciviousness and pain from the delicious sting. Again, he slapped her ass, this time it hurt a little more. With each cutting spank, they drew Catherine further away from all of her cares. This was what she wanted. This was what she needed. She trusted Darragh. Her eyes were brimming with tears and they quickly overflowed, draining every ounce of worry.

* * *

Catherine could feel the usual jitters set in as she unrolled the map on the table. With six pairs of scrutinizing eyes on her, acid burned the back of her throat and her heart refused to calm down. Darragh seemed cool as a cucumber-like always, not at all ruffled by the Irish Kings sitting opposite of them in the safe house in Andersontown. Ever since Galen O'Shay had shown up to her court-martial, all but threatening the court to dismiss the charges against Catherine, she felt a bit of extra pressure to make sure she held up to their esteem. The Kings now viewed her in such high regard, she was fearful of letting them down.

Though, on this particular occasion, they didn't make her as apprehensive as Jimmy did. It was the first time Catherine had seen him for three weeks. Considering that happened the last time they were in the same room together, she was less than enthused to look at him, let alone have to interact. Darragh never wandered too far from Catherine's side, always keeping on eye on Jimmy to make sure he kept his distance. A small part of Darragh was wishing for Jimmy to say or do something idiotic towards Catherine, just so he could give him a couple more kicks to the ribcage.

A month away from reaching the halfway point of her pregnancy, Catherine's belly was undeniably a baby bump. It was nearly impossible for Jimmy to keep his eyes off of her. After reading the letters she had written, he was still fuming. For a fleeting moment, it all went away when he'd watch her place a hand on her belly and rub small circles. Then, he'd remember how she lied to everyone. That was enough for him to go back to loathing her.

Avoiding eye contact with Jimmy, she spoke with poise and seemed unshakeable.

"After a long month of nearly twenty-hour days, we were able to calculate a routine for Shane Carrigan and the rest of the IPLA. Carrigan knows we're coming, he told me when I was able to make him believe I wanted to make the jump. He's also jumpy; he checks under his car before getting in every single time, so the initial plan of a car bomb is out."

"What do you suggest?" Galen asked.

Knowing she had his full attention was intimidating. Normally the Kings never paid attention in these sort of meetings as it was Jimmy who would ultimately give the green light.

"We took inspiration from Provisional's operation on Halloween of 1992." Instantly, all six men sat up straight in their chairs.

X-ing out locations on the map of Belfast, Catherine explained Shane Carrigan would be the first one shot as he left the Templemore Swim and Fitness Center. At the same time, pubs in west Belfast would be raided and several IPLA members would be kneecapped for their roles in selling drugs. Thirteen more volunteers were in charge of storming Divis Tower, where the IPLA officers would be told to leave the country, forcing them into exile. In the aftermath, all twenty-one IRA volunteers were to hide out in call houses in Andersontown and Ardoyne. Over the ensuing twelve hours, it would be a race against the clock to get them all safely to Dundalk.

There was a collective silence as the Irish Kings looked over the map and digested the plan Catherine and Darragh had come up with. It was a sound plan, and none of the Kings were surprised that not even the smallest of details hadn't been thought out. This was the type of work they simply expected from volunteers like them. Reaching into her pocket, Catherine unfolded a small piece of paper and slid it over to them. Peter Dooley handed it to Jimmy, who looked slightly confused as he read it. He asked Catherine what the point of it was.

"Public support for the Ra is nonexistent. We can't afford any civilian injury or casualty. We know it's standard procedure that the Security Unit picks which units participate in operations like this, but, Darragh and I compiled a list of names of men from Belfast and south Armagh who we feel will get it done properly."

It didn't come as the slightest shock to Jimmy that as a devout Catholic who attended Mass every day and had the conviction of a zealot, Darragh had put himself at the top of that list, but left Catherine off. Jimmy wasn't lying when he said he would make her life a living Hell, and he knew exactly how to get under both Catherine and Darragh's skin.

"I'm fine with this," Jimmy answered, honestly. "Under one condition."

Catherine and Darragh looked at one another, almost terrified to hear what Jimmy was thinking. Reaching for the black marker Catherine had been using, Jimmy crossed out a name and wrote hers.

Darragh shot up out of his chair. "No fuckin' way! She's almost four months pregnant."

Tossing the marker into the center of the map, Jimmy smirked as he shrugged his shoulders. "Either she takes out Carrigan, or I can find another unit commander to take charge of this."

"This is fuckin' bullshit, Jimmy, and you know it! She's not doin' it, and you're not takin' this away from me because you're not gettin' your way!"

Standing up, Jimmy placed his hands on the table. "Just out of curiosity, are you saying you don't think Catherine is capable of doin' it?"

Catherine could sense Darragh was about to lose his cool. To keep him from jumping over the table and strangling Jimmy, she placed both her hand on his sides and started walking him back towards the front door. She ignored the verbal sparring between the two of them as she got him outside.

The cool breeze felt refreshing as Darragh bounced on the balls of his feet, his fists tightly clenched. He was wired and irate, fed up with Jimmy's nonsense. While Catherine understood Darragh's overall apprehension of Jimmy deciding she should be included as one who would ultimately pull the trigger, she felt as though he had jumped in too soon. She had been an important cog in the machine that worked tirelessly behind the scenes, that didn't stop Catherine from feeling left out. From feeling as though she had no part in the armed conflict.

Pulling her sweater tight around her torso, Catherine watched Darragh as he lit a cigarette, shaking his head as he played the incident over in his head.

"I wanna do it."

"What?" Darragh snorted. "No, you're not."

"Why? Because I'm pregnant? My Ma was eighteen and pregnant with Liam when she was takin' part in operations, and Fiona was active throughout her entire pregnancy. I don't care what all of these shill politicians have to say. As far as I'm concerned, the Troubles isn't over. Nor will it be until Ireland is united. For as long as that border exists, I will not stop fighting, pregnant or not."

Darragh flicked his cigarette to the ground as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He hated the position Catherine was putting him in. After what she said, she would brand him a hypocrite if he still said no, because he carried the same attitude. Though he owed his early release to the Belfast Agreement, Darragh staunchly rejected every word of it along with Catherine and the rest of their comrades.

"This would be the first time you do anything like this-"

"Which makes Carrigan the perfect target for me. I'll be on a motorbike, I pop him two or three times, and then I'll be on my way to Dundalk before you even get to Andersontown."

A small part of Darragh couldn't help but worry that her persuasion to be involved was sparked from her need to appease Jimmy. At no point during the entire planning phase did she make it at all obvious that she wanted to be further involved. If she had told him early on that she wanted to be the one pulling the trigger on Carrigan, he would have made that happen.

"You're not doin' this because you want to make _him_ happy, do you?"

"Fuck no," she was quick to answer. "While it would be satisfying to call his bluff because we both know he's only doing this to get under our skin, I want in on some of the action. When I was movin' that shite all over the world, I never felt I was doin' anything for the cause. I was just a common gangster. Being in the thick of it, like you, and Liam and my Da is why I made the jump to your unit."

That was an answer Darragh was satisfied with. He couldn't say no to that reasoning.

"And here I thought the reason you wanted to come to my unit was that you found me completely irresistible."

Catherine wrapped her arms around his waist. "Well, I won't deny that perhaps did play a small role."

"Oh?"

She didn't verbally respond, just smiled before lifting onto her tip-toes and kissing Darragh long, and sensually.

Little did Catherine know, as she tangled her tongue with his, there were eyes on them. Stepping away from the window over the sink in the kitchen, Jimmy tried not to lose his temper. He had always thought a reconciliation between he and Catherine would happen when her court-martial finished up, but he realized that as long as Darragh was in the picture, that would never happen.

* * *

Around ten that night, Patrick jogged down the stairs to find Catherine peacefully sleeping on the sofa. She had one hand gingerly placed on her belly and her book resting on her chest. It broke his heart to have to wake her with the news, but knowing his daughter, Catherine would be fuming in the morning if he didn't. Once in the living room, Patrick turned off the television first, then knelt beside her. Delicately, he swept hair behind her ear.

"Catherine," he whispered. "I need you to wake up, a thaisce."

Not a fan by any means of being woken from her slumber, Catherine groaned with annoyance as she swatted Patrick away. He took the book off her chest and tossed it out of the way so he could stop her from rolling away from him. After the third failed attempt, Patrick was done trying to do it the kind way. He rose his voice like he had done practically every morning when she was still in school.

"Catherine Mary, you need to get up. I'm not fuckin' playing."

At the harsh tone of her father's voice, Catherine's eyes instantly popped open. If it wasn't serious, he would have given up already and just let her sleep. Sitting up, Catherine yawned and reached for her glasses.

"Is everythin' okay?"

Her first thoughts went to her brothers, then Shauna and baby Erin. Before dozing off, she had spoken to Darragh over the phone.

"Somethin' happened near the Shankill." Patrick trod lightly, gauging her reaction. "Not sure yet if it was the UDA or the UVF, but there was a …altercation."

"What exactly happened?"

"Darragh and Brendan Sullivan were attacked." He grabbed her trembling hands, quickly reassuring her. "They're both okay, but Darragh is banged up pretty bad."

"Where is he?"

Patrick told her that Darragh was home. Without a second thought, she jumped off the sofa and ran upstairs to change. She stayed as calm as possible. It wouldn't do anyone any good to get upset. Her main focus was on getting to Darragh's, praying it wasn't as bad as she thought.


	29. Fírinne

As soon as Catherine entered the house, she made a b-line for the living room. Her heart instantly dropped into her stomach when she saw Darragh lying on the sofa. He looked rough. Black and blue, a laceration to the cheekbone. He held a bloody towel to his side, just below the ribcage.

Despite his battered appearance, it was a good sign to see him still smiling and cracking jokes like usual. She could tell he had a broken rib or two, by how he winced every time one of the guys made him laugh. Liam was there, with three other men from her unit. When they realized Catherine had arrived, the joking quieted down. Liam moved out of the way so she could sit on the floor beside Darragh. Grabbing his hand, she kissed his split knuckles over and over. For the first time since hearing the news, she began to cry.

"Hey," Darragh wiped her tears away with the tab of his thumb. "I'm still alive. You can't get rid of me that easily. No more tears, yeah? Besides, this is nothin'. I had worse beat downs by the UVF."

That wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear. Looking around and realizing that she had seen every man in the room in the same condition as Darragh, reality hit Catherine hard. It was the first time she stopped and thought about the violence that overwhelmed their lives. This time they were lucky that a few fractured bones were the extent of it. There was no telling what would happen the next time the loyalists managed to get their hands on him. It scared her too much to think about life without Darragh. Much to Catherine's dismay, he had pissed off all the right people on the opposite side of the wall.

As she brushed Darragh's hair off his forehead, Catherine was pulled from her thoughts when she realized something he said didn't make sense.

"Did you say the UVF did this to you?"

"Aye. They nabbed Sully and me comin' out of a pub on the Shankill. Had a tip on an informer. We think they may have followed us from St. Peter's."

Not for a second did Catherine doubt Darragh's. It just didn't add up. Unlike Darragh, Catherine had seen just how brutal the UVF could be in the streets. Prison fights were a lot different than Belfast street justice.

"Do you have your rosary?"

Darragh looked at Catherine like she had three heads. He ran his tongue along his lower tip, tasting metallic, as he pulled his rosary out of his front pocket. Catherine had to keep her emotions in check as he dropped the clear, bloodstained beads into her palm. She clenched them in her hand, offering Darragh a warm smile. She kissed his forehead and excused herself into the kitchen, saying she'd fetch him ice for his swollen eye. Patrick followed her.

Even though her back was turned to Patrick as she moved around the kitchen, she knew he was there.

"It wasn't the UVF, Da. I remember what they did to you."

Patrick had wasted eight years in Long Kesh. He had missed countless birthday's and Christmas'. He had even broken her nose during a brutal fight when she was seventeen. Out everything he had put his family through, nothing made Patrick feel like the world's worst father than hearing Catherine admit she remembered when he had been on the losing end of an Ulster Volunteer Force beat down. She was seven when it happened.

Like Patrick, Catherine's nightmares never went away, either.

Lighting a cigarette, Patrick watched her pour a double shot of whiskey. "Aye. Any clue as to who it could be?"

Catherine froze for a moment as she twisted the cap back on the bottle. Internally, she was screaming Jimmy's name, but she couldn't tell Patrick about her suspicions. If she did, that would require her to admit that she and Darragh had lied, and Jimmy was only doing this to terrorize Catherine into telling the truth. She refused to give in to the man who was trying to destroy her life now that she was beginning to thrive. After putting the bottle away, she grabbed the glass and ice pack.

The lie was bitter on her tongue. "Must have been the IPLA. Dragged them to the Shankill to make it look like a loyalist attack. Anyone else wouldn't have hesitated to kill him.

"Youse almost ready to take those bastards out? Everyone's done with their shite."

"Planned for next week." She paused, not wanting to tell Patrick that she would be the one pulling the trigger on Carrigan. But, he deserved to know why she would be gone for a few days following. "I'll be active on that operation."

Patrick filled with a contradicting swell of pride and shame. A decent man would do whatever they could to protect their children from a life of political bloodshed. In the O'Toole household, it had been nothing but encouraged. Patrick could still vividly remember the day he received a letter from Olivia, where his wife informed him that they were in trouble. When asked by her year two teacher what she wanted to be when she grew up, their Catherine Mary replied with, "in the Cumann na mBann." Patrick wished she had stuck to that aspiration.

There was nothing for him to say. So, he just pursed his lips and offered her a small nod. Catherine took that as him saying "I'm begrudgingly proud."

That was enough for her.

In the living room, Catherine placed the ice on Darragh's eye as he swallowed the whiskey in one gulp. As badly as he wanted to spend the next several days in a booze and narcotic haze, he couldn't. It didn't matter that he had a couple of broken ribs, she had a doctor appointment in the morning.

"This is what I get for leavin' you naked and sleepin' in my bed," Darragh said, self-deprecatingly.

"That's not true." She did her best to reassure him. Though she had been disappointed when she awoke to find him gone, Catherine knew the cause came before all else. That included her. When Darragh got a call, he had to leave. "I think of it as, occupational hazard."

Darragh removed the bag of ice from his eye. He looked up at the guys who were crowding his living room. Appreciating their worry for him, all he wanted was to spend some alone time with Catherine. He politely asked them to leave, assuring they'd see him tomorrow.

The other men in their unit said goodbye to Catherine and Darragh, with Patrick and Liam giving her kisses to the cheek. She promised Patrick she'd be fine as he felt uncomfortable leaving his pregnant daughter and beaten significant other.

Once everyone was gone, the couple sat in silence. Catherine ran her knuckles along Darragh's jaw, the stubble scratching her soft skin. She hated watching him struggle to breathe. With each throbbing breath he took, the anger boiled in her blood.

"Be honest with me." Catherine licked her thumb and scrubbed dried blood from his thick eyebrow. "Do you think it was the UVF?" She felt bad asking, thinking it made her seem skeptical of Darragh's honesty, but the elephant in the room needed to be addressed.

He slowly moved into a prone position, even though it hurt like Hell. With his feet planted on the floor, Darragh reached for the bag of ice and hugged it against his left side. Looking straight ahead, he told Catherine he needed her to just listen and not say anything.

"When I first met you, you didn't ask me why the RUC wanted me. When I was convicted of murder, you never questioned whether or not I did it. Even now, you don't ask about what I'm up to. With that said, the only reason I'm tellin' you what I'm about to is because you've kept your nose out my business."

Darragh knew she wasn't going to like it, but he admitted that he had been involved in a pub brawl the previous week. Along with a few other True Army lads, he had beaten a former member of the UVF, thinking they were still active. As much as Darragh wanted to believe it was Jimmy, he honestly didn't think it was.

Catherine on the other hand, she still had her doubts. She knew Jimmy better than anyone in Belfast and the timing of it all seemed far too coincidental.

After dosing him heavily with painkillers, Catherine got Darragh to bed. She held him in her arms, rubbing his back and occasionally kissing his forehead. He fell asleep listening to the steady beating of her heart. To some extent, she had expected to be a complete wreck in the event anything happened to him. The shock hadn't quite worn off and she attributed that to her impulsive thinking.

Slipping out of bed, Catherine leaned down and kissed Darragh on the mouth. Grabbing her shoes and bag, she headed to the Short Strand.

* * *

Catherine stormed into the back room of the pub. She gave no acknowledgment to the other men in the room as she rounded the desk, closing the distance between her and Jimmy.

"You son-of-a-bitch. You almost had me fuckin' fooled." Tugging Darragh's bloodied rosary out of her jacket pocket, she slammed it down. "Did you think slashing his face would be too obvious?"

Jimmy's eyes nearly budged out of his skull when he realized the screwup. Jumping to his feet, he snatched it, shoving it into his pocket to keep the lads from noticing what it was. He ordered the men out of the room, needing a private space to talk with Catherine.

"It was the UVF who went after him. That dumb-shit messed with someone he shouldn't have. Also, who the fuck do you think you are? Barging in here and accusing me of doing anything to Darragh."

The outright refusal to accept responsibility and just admit what he did, came as no surprise to Catherine. She shouldn't have been frustrated or upset. This was how Jimmy operated.

Though, knowing that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

How in the world did Fiona put up with it? she wondered.

Realizing the lads were most likely listening to their conversation from the other side of the door, Catherine took a soothing deep breath. Running her fingers through her hair, she took a seat in one of the chairs.

"I've been doing this long enough to know when a killing or a beating is paramilitary or staged to look like it was. Your boys fucked up, Jimmy. If it was the UVF, they would have stapled that rosary to Darragh's chest. And, it's a wee coincidence that not even a month after you threatened him, this would happen. Just tell me the truth. For the first time in twenty-fucking-years, tell me the truth."

Sitting back down, Jimmy pulled the rosary out his pocket and tossed it back to Catherine. She caught it mid-air, wrapping it around her hand.

"It wasn't me. That's God's truth. No way would I have sent out punks to the job for me because honestly, I do want him dead."

She snorted, shaking her head. "You're so pathetic. You know that right?"

Jimmy ignored Catherine's jab, going straight for one of the drawers of his desk. Catherine watched quizzically as he rustled around. When he slapped a stack of envelopes down in front of her, her eyes budged. Nobody—especially Jimmy—was ever supposed to see those letters. She ran her fingertips along her handwriting.

"You read these?"

He nodded. "I wish I hadn't."

"Well, that's what you get for goin' through my belongings. You find shite ya don't wanna see."

Catherine didn't know why she felt bad for Jimmy. Though she had written fairly unkind words about him, they were all true. There wasn't a single lie gracing those pages. Jimmy pulled the first letter from the envelope and forced Catherine to read it aloud.

She knew he was only doing it to make her feel uncomfortable.

"As the day fades away and the night slips upon me, I find myself clinging to my prayers for comfort. Every night I pray to God that He will keep you in His arms and out of harm's way until we can finally be together again. Sometimes, it seems so unfair that they're keeping you longer than they said they would. I realize though when you love a rebel you cannot expect life to be anchored."

He ripped it away from her, handing her another one, claiming it to be one of his favorites.

She read it:

"I'm lonely and overwhelmed with this emptiness in my heart. Just remember that I love you and everything about you. You have no idea what I'd give to kiss your lips, feel your touch. I long to hold you and feel your sweet caress. We both knew our friendship would grow from the first day we spoke. But, neither one of us could begin to imagine the love we would both feel now. It's not dramatically exploding or thunderous in our hearts, but rather, it's slowly growing into a beautiful relationship that only you and I understand. You are my soul mate, my best friend, my true love."

Hearing her read her own words only made Jimmy more indigent. Shoving another at her, Catherine broke down into tears when she realized which one it was. She was humiliated that Jimmy had read it.

"Please don't make me read this one."

"Why?" He patronized.

"I was seventeen when I wrote this! And, I didn't even send it to him. I didn't send any of these to him!"

"But is it true? Was that how you felt? Do you still feel that way?"

She was afraid to answer that question. There was a part of Catherine that still loved Jimmy for the man he used to be, and she would never do anything to intentionally break his heart. It upset her to see how much pain her teenage ramblings were causing him, but at least she was being genuine.

Her hesitation told Jimmy all he needed to know. "So you were just full of shite then? When you told me I was the only man you wanted. And you regret us shaggin'."

"What you read in these letters, doesn't diminish what you and I had at all." Catherine reached for Jimmy's hand. To her astonishment, he didn't pull back. "Darragh and I have a complicated past—we met each other at the wrong time in our lives. But, you and I came together when we needed each other most, and it was amazing and it was beautiful. At the time, you were the only man I wanted, nor do I regret you being my first."

There was only one person in the world Jimmy every felt like he could open up to. The idea of being vulnerable still felt foreign to him, but there were far too many questions he needed answers to. If he was going to look like a sap, Catherine was the one whom he trusted to look like a needy sap in front of.

He struggled to get the words out. Feeling embarrassed that he needed to ask in the first place. "Please tell me you meant it when you said you loved me."

The tears that broke from Catherine's eyes weren't the result of her pregnancy hormones. Her heart genuinely ached for the broken man. It all made too much sense. Jimmy was the way he was because he desperately craved true love and intimacy. Unfortunately for him, it was his high standards and icy persona that drove the possibility of that away. Then, he lashed out whenever he felt as though he were losing control, driving it further from his grasp.

Standing up, Catherine moved so she was sitting on his lap. She gathered his face in her hands, pressing her forehead to his.

"Of course I meant it. You have no bloody idea how much you mean to me, Jimmy. Whenever I needed you, you were there without fail. I love you, so much, and nothing will ever change that. But, we're not meant to be together. We gave our relationship everything we had, but it didn't work because the people we're supposed to be with, have been right in front of us the entire time."

In true Jimmy fashion, he disregarded most of what she said. Only hearing what he wanted to hear.

"If you say you love me, then why can't you give this another try? You're pregnant with _our _baby."

She stood firm, telling him she wasn't leaving Darragh.

"Why are you being selfish and stubborn, Catherine? When you love someone, you don't just fuckin' give up on them. You keep tryin' to make it work."

He was telling her to keep trying? She had been the only one trying to make it work for nearly four years. Then it hit it her—his idea of love wasn't even in the same universe as hers. That was why he and Fiona and managed to stay together for so long. They had similar views on it.

"You think the definition of love, is having someone stick by your side no matter how poorly they treat you or how badly they take advantage of you." She stopped for a moment, looking back on the years they spent together. "During my confusion over Darragh, I was untrue to you. I made you believe that was how I interpreted loved too because I stayed through all of the shite. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for making you think that was the kind of love I wanted, and for turning around and blaming you for it falling apart when you were the one being genuine."

Jimmy smacked her hands off his face, turning his head to the side so he could focus on a spot on the floor. His heart was pounding with a fury of emotions. He was angry at her for making him believe he had found the woman he could spend the rest of his life with. He was angry at himself for having put his hands on her in the first place.

"At least the truth is in the open air now. It was a pleasure being nothing more than a place holder until Darragh was released." Jimmy threw Catherine's words back at her and it stung worse than a paper cut.

"That's not fair." Catherine defended herself. "If I meant that, I would have sent those letters."

"Could've had me fooled. Seems the two of you got together awfully damn fast after we ended things."

"I don't expect you to understand nor is it any of your business, but Darragh and I wasted a lot of time pretending we felt differently about each other. You need to stay out of my relationship with him. Just let it be."

He rolled his eyes. "If I do recall correctly, between the ages of five and thirteen, you sabotaged every relationship I was in."

"I did not!"

"You did, a chuisle," Jimmy took a chance, placing his hands on Catherine's protruding belly. She didn't stop him. "You pushed your way into being the center of my life, and I let you stay there. No one came before you. No one'll ever come before you."

Looking down, Catherine watched his large, strong hands cradle the bump. She had a moment of weakness. "Don't make me regret this." Reaching down for her bag, Catherine dug through it, pulling out the sonogram from her last scan and handed it to him. "I'm willing to make a compromise. For as long as you play nice with Darragh, I'll keep you in the loop about my appointments. Once the baby's born, if there's still no drama, you and I can maybe, _quietly _arrange something. But I swear to all that is Holy, Jimmy if I find out it was you and not the UVF behind Darragh's attack, or you start any sort of turmoil, I will leave Ireland so fast it'll make your head spin."

Jimmy held the sonogram, fat tears ballooning in his eyes. He sniffed them away. "That's our baby?"

"That's our baby," she said, hoping this wouldn't come back to bite her in the ass.


	30. Like Father, Like Daughter

Gripping the towel bar, Darragh gritted his teeth as he groaned from the pain. With broken ribs, trying to step out of the shower turned out to be far more difficult than he originally anticipated it to be.

Turning around from the sink, Catherine sprang into action. Helping Darragh out of the tub, Catherine grabbed his towel and wrapped it around his waist for him. It tore every ounce of her to shreds seeing him in such terrible pain. He had woken up in the middle of the night screaming, after having rolled over on to his left side accidentally. Frustrated and seething that he would have to rely heavily on his pregnant girlfriend for the next several weeks, Darragh was having a hard time swallowing his pride.

"Would you please stay home? It hasn't even been twelve hours. You'll never heal if you don't slow down."

Pushing past Catherine, he headed to the sink where he grabbed his toothbrush. Slathering on a glob of minty paste, he snapped at her. "I'm not fuckin' stayin' home. No way am I missin' this appointment." Shoving the toothbrush in his mouth, Darragh curled his fingers around the edge of the sink and hung his head low. Catherine didn't take it personally. She knew the horrible pain he was experiencing would affect anyone's mood. "I'm sorry. Of all doctor appointments, I don't wanna miss this one."

"I understand." Walking up behind him, she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed the elaborate Celtic cross tattoo between his shoulder blades. She wished Darragh would admit defeat for the day, but that would never happen. That's why she was prepared. "Brien's gonna meet us at my parents when we're done at the clinic. He was able to get some of the good painkillers from Seamus."

"I'm only takin' that shite at night. Don't wanna be all loopy during the day. All of my responsibilities don't vanish because I'm the dumb-fuck who got their arse kicked by the UVF."

In the mirror, Catherine intensely watched Darragh as he spat foam into the sink. She wasn't sure if it was love or her raging hormones, but everything that man did, he managed to look sexy doing it. And that included him having toothpaste dribbling down his chin as he vigorously brushed his teeth.

Realizing he couldn't lean down to rinse his mouth out under the faucet, Catherine washed out the mug she had been drinking tea from and filled it with water for him.

"Oh, my love," she crooned, rubbing his back, "you're not a dumb-fuck. A dumbass, yes, but not a dumb-fuck."

Darragh found it amusing to watch Catherine's face twist with disgust as he spat the water back into the cup, handing it to her.

"Lucky for you, I can piss on my own." Kissing Catherine on the forehead, Darragh headed to the bedroom to dress.

Dumping the water down the drain, she chuckled. "Aye. Lucky me."

* * *

In the clinic waiting room at the Royal, Catherine and Darragh sat in plastic blue chairs against the wall. Across the room, the television quietly hummed. She half paid attention to the news stories as she flipped through the pages of an old parenting magazine. Beside her, Darragh sat as still as possible, counting his breaths.

Every time another expectant mother would walk past them and catch a glimpse of Darragh's battered face, the two of them would snicker at the horrified reactions. The sad reality was that Catherine had been so exposed to brutality, she was desensitized. A normal woman would have been up in arms about her boyfriend having been knocked around, but not Catherine.

As Darragh sat on the edge of the tub while Catherine smeared antibiotic ointment over the gashes on his cheekbone, eyebrow, and bridge of his nose, she clicked her tongue along the roof her mouth, shaking her head. _"See, this is why we stay out of pub fights," _she had teased him.

"How're you doin'?" Leaning over, she whispered into his ear.

"I'll survive."

Catherine grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly. "I appreciate you comin' with me today."

"You kidding?" he placed his free hand on her belly. Today, not only would they be finding out the sex of the baby, but they would also be hearing the heartbeat. "I wouldn't miss this for the world."

Seeing how excited Darragh was, Catherine felt the immeasurable guilt building. She hadn't told him that she confronted Jimmy after he had passed out. Even she was annoyed with herself, wishing she could take back the compromise she made with Jimmy. It was beyond unfair to Darragh for her to turn around and do that, after the Hell he had put them through over the last month. A serious moment of weakness would have serious repercussions.

She wasn't sure yet if she was going to tell him about what happened.

Thankfully, they didn't have to wait long. When the nurse called Catherine's name, they got odd looks from just about everyone after she stood up first and was the one helping Darragh to his feet. Once in the exam room, he passed on sitting again, opting to just rest his back against the wall.

"How've you been feelin?" the doctor asked, flipping through the results of Catherine's last blood test.

"Really tired—like all the time. Feels like I never have energy."

"Still nauseous, too," Darragh cut in, raising his eyebrows.

"That's nothin' to be concerned about. Perfectly normal for this stage of pregnancy. Once you hit the second trimester, your energy levels should go back up." Reaching for the blood pressure cuff, she wrapped it around Catherine's arm. After jotting down the numbers, she ran through the usual list of questions.

At the end of the appointment, Catherine enthusiastically smiled at Darragh as the doctor squeeze jelly all over her stomach. He moved closer, grabbing her hand and feeling his heart rate start to skyrocket. In the two months since finding out Catherine was pregnant, Darragh was beginning to convince himself that was his child. It didn't matter to him that she had done the deed with Jimmy, as far as he was concerned, that was his baby.

The doctor pointed to the screen, outlining the baby. Catherine slightly hoisted up on her elbows to get a better look. When they heard the heartbeat for the first time, he swallowed hard and she wiped joyful tears from her cheeks. For the first time since those pink lines appeared on the test, it was suddenly all so real for Catherine. It was also the first time she felt elated. No apprehension. Just pure bliss.

"Does everythin' look okay?" Her voice was small.

Doctor Gallagher ran through indicators that all pointed to a healthy pregnancy. "Aye. The baby's size is exactly what I'd expect to see, and the heartbeat is very strong. Do we want to find out the sex today?"

Catherine said they did but kindly asked her to write it down and seal it up in an envelope. They wanted to find out at the same time as the rest of the family.

On their way, Doctor Gallagher slipped a small piece of paper into an envelope and handed it to Darragh. It was a relief to him that she ignored his black eye. With Catherine occupied giving another round of blood samples, he used the opportunity to ask his questions.

"What can I be doin' for her?"

She smiled un-sympathetically. Answering that question never got old for her. She loved to see significant other's who were actively involved. "Just keep up with what you're already doing. It's brilliant that you're here with her for every appointment. The two of you should start thinking about signing up for childbirth classes, though. It's also important that you keep her active and her stress down."

_Yeah, you try telling an IRA woman she needs to keep her stress down. _He thought.

"Believe me, I'm tryin'. She's just been so tired lately, and it seems like she can hardly keep any food down."

"Catherine is a healthy young woman. All of her blood work has been right where I want it to be. Within the month, you'll start to see her perk up."

That was good enough for him.

* * *

Outside the Royal, It was a crisp September morning with the sun trying to peek its way through angry, gray clouds. Darragh slipped on a black knitted beanie and his aviator sunglasses. For obvious reason, he was on edge about being recognized in public and Catherine really couldn't blame him.

"What were ya talking to the doctor about?" She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her jacket as they started making their way to the Falls.

"Just wanted to know about what else I could be doin' to help you out."

"You already do so much. Stop worryin' about me."

Darragh stopped walking and tugged on Catherine's jacket to stop her as well. Gathering her in his arms, he pulled her in close. Closing her eyes, Catherine took a deep breath, losing herself in his scent and warmth.

"The day I stop worryin' about you, is the day I'm cold and dead." He pressed a small kiss to her lips. "And, I'm hopin' that doesn't happen anytime soon."

Catherine rolled her eyes, not finding his terrible attempt at a joke to be funny. She understood what he meant, she just wished he would have expressed it differently. Just like him, she too was on edge, worried that the beating was just a warning.

Cupping his rosy cheeks in her hands, Catherine kissed him again. Everything that he did for her, made her heart burst. No man has ever shown her the amount of unconditional love that he has. She couldn't see his eyes, but she knew he felt the same. The last twelve hours had her thinking long and hard about the future and her feelings. The mere mention of Darragh no longer being at her side tore her to shreds. She couldn't imagine a day where she couldn't see or speak to him. Kiss his luscious lips or fall asleep tucked against his body.

"I love you," she blurted out.

Those three words shattered Darragh's soul. He knew this day was inevitable, but he was hoping he would be able to clean up his past before it happened. The love he felt for Catherine had consumed every fiber in his being and nor could he imagine a life without her. She had been so open and honest about her past with Lorcan and Jimmy, even Happy. Yet, he couldn't return the favor and tell her that he—technically—had a wife in Donegal.

That was a conversation for another day.

"I love you, too. More than you'll ever know."

* * *

Catherine hadn't been expecting a houseful when she walked into her parent's. With Darragh close behind, he stiffened when he spotted Jimmy sitting at the kitchen table beside Fiona. Brien and Liam were busy entertaining Kerrianne, while Padraic was deep in conversation with Patrick. Jimmy ceased speaking with Olivia when Catherine entered the kitchen.

Brien whistled at Darragh as he reached into his kutte. He tugged out a pill bottle and sent it sailing across the kitchen. Darragh caught it mid-air as he pulled out a chair for Catherine. She had no idea about the confrontation between Jimmy and Darragh a few days earlier, and Darragh had no idea Catherine had seen Jimmy either. The tension between the three of them was so palpable, Patrick could sense something was off.

"So," Olivia poured steaming water from the electric kettle for Catherine. "What did the doctor say?"

Jimmy shifted in his chair as he watched Darragh stir milk and two sugars into Catherine's steeping tea. The sweetness of her voice still possessed the power to penetrate him, and those sparkling eyes could bring him to his knees.

He faded out of the conversation swirling around him. It utterly broke him to be there and listen to all of them gush over Catherine, Darragh, and the baby. It was karma; another man would be raising his child, just as he was doing to Chibs.

With Fiona convinced that Darragh was the father, she was happier than Jimmy has seen her in a long time. In her mind, life was back on track—her family was back together.

"Pregnancy is agreein' with you, love." Fiona was genuinely happy that Catherine was pulling her own life together. "I wished I had looked half as good as you when I was with Kerri."

Catherine blushed at the compliment, taking it in stride. She didn't feel nearly as good as people said she looked. Rummaging through her purse, Catherine thanked Fiona for the compliment and grabbed the envelope from the doctor. Waving it out, Patrick plucked it from his daughter's outstretched hand. Excitedly, everyone but Jimmy, gathered around Patrick as he ripped the seal open.

Standing behind Catherine, Darragh placed his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed her tense muscles, feeling his stomach start to twist and turn.

When Patrick unfolded the piece of paper, Catherine instantly knew what she was having by mixed reactions.

"What is it, Kerri?" Catherine laughed at the young girl's visible disappointed look.

Slipping onto Fiona's lap, Kerrianne shrugged. "A boy."

Brien and Liam slapped Darragh on the back to offer their congratulations. The brother's quickly regretted their decision when the pain almost brought Darragh to his knees. Catherine jumped out of her chair and—carefully—hugged him. They would have been happy either way, but they had been secretly hoping for a boy.

The news left Jimmy devastated.

"Do youse have a name yet?" Brien asked. He passed out shots to Darragh, Liam, and Padraic.

Darragh answered. "Aye. Patrick Eamonn."

"But," Catherine interjected, looking at Jimmy briefly. "He's to be called Eamonn."

Picking out a boy's name had been sore for Catherine and Darragh. As badly as they wanted to stick with the Irish tradition of naming their son after his father, that could only happen when they conceived. Picking any derivative of the name "James" was also out of the question as Catherine feared that would instantly raise red flags. Especially if the baby were to bear any sort of resemblance to Jimmy.

After hearing the name they had chosen, Jimmy was content. Catherine knew the name Eamonn held a special space in his life. It would have been his first choice had he been involved in the decision making.

"That's so stupid. Why not just call him Patrick? Or give him the first name Eamonn?"

Catherine leaned her forearms on the table and tilted her head in her brother's direction. Darragh was on the fence about whether or not to defuse the situation. The pregnancy hormones were through the roof and he knew her sharp tongue had been slicing a little more these days. He decided not to jump in because he was genuinely curious to watch his girl drop-kick her brother.

"For the same bloody reason as to why you're called Liam when your given name is Patrick William. There's about six dozen Paddy's between our family and Darragh's."

"Fair enough," Liam conceded.

Patrick pipped in. "I think the most important question here, is will the boy be an O'Toole or a Ryan?"

Darragh looked back and forth between the three O'Toole men. Deep down they knew it wouldn't be long until Catherine was a Ryan herself, so they had all accepted the fact the baby would be as well. Patrick just wanted to make his future son-in-law squirm a little. When he realized it was all in good fun, Darragh felt like the biggest asshole in the world knowing he could never make Catherine his wife.

"I'm sorry to burst your bubble, Da, but he'll be carryin' on the Ryan name." Catherine avoided all eye contact with Jimmy.

* * *

As everyone sat in the living room, Catherine was in the kitchen refilling the kettle with water. Brien took the opportunity to get some alone time with his sister. Sneaking up behind her, he tapped her on the shoulder, finding it hysterical when she nearly jumped three feet in the air.

"Mother'a Christ." She placed her hand on her chest. "Ya scared me half to death, so ya did."

He calmed his laughter just enough to apologize. With all the protection runs he had been doing to Dungloe, and the surveillance she had been doing, it bummed Brien out that he was falling out of touch with Catherine. While he missed the days where they had been glued to the hip, he understood that their very different ideological views had led them to separate lives.

Leaning against the counter, Brien crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes softened as he watched Catherine rinse out mugs.

"Things workin' between you and Darragh? He treatin' you well?"

"Aye." Catherine lowered her voice. "We've had our moments, but it's night and day compared to how it was with Jimmy. I'm not sleepin' with one eye open anymore, afraid I'll have my neck squeezed in the middle of the night."

"Is that really what was goin' on?"

"Towards the end. But, I did have it comin'. You don't break the rules of the Ra and expect nothin' to happen. I'm still in shock that my court-martial just…went away. But now, Darragh's upset because Jimmy assigned me to-"

Catherine immediately stopped talking. _Loose lips cost lives. _She wasn't convinced that Liam wasn't the informer who had landed her in jail.

"You need to start thinkin' about the future. Even Ma left the Ra before you were born."

Brien pinched the bridge of his nose trying to make sense of the mess Catherine had gotten herself into. He understood the suffocating pressure the old ladies of SAMBEL felt. They were expected to run a household with an absentee husband, all the while keeping secrets. He couldn't even begin to imagine the responsibilities that were crushing Catherine, when she was expected to do just that, on top of being involved in operations.

"Look, I know you don't agree with the life I've chosen for myself. But, you should've thought of that before ya put the petrol bombs, bricks, and stones in my hand. You grew out of it; I didn't. Until I do, you've no business to lecture me about what I do for the cause."

He recoiled as if Catherine had slapped him across the face. "So that's how it's gonna be, yeah?" Reaching into his kutte, he pulled out four letters and tossed down on the counter. "Well, sweetheart, it became my business when you decided to fuck one of the blokes in Cali. The decision you made followed ya back home."

Catherine picked up the envelopes and instantly realized Happy had sent them. She never responded to the one she had gotten after she returned home from Dundalk following her arrest. A part of her hoped that her silence would make Happy disinterested and he would move on.

It was a one-night stand. They had no future. He needed to let it go.

"You've got a baby on the way, Catherine, and a man who treats you with an ounce of respect. Either you end it, or I will. Then, stay the fuck away from my club."

"Don't be a fuckin' asshole about this! I haven't spoken to him since I was in Charming, so there's nothin' to even end!"

When Catherine rose her voice, that caught the attention of everyone in the living room. Patrick and Darragh were the first to poke their heads in the kitchen, making sure the siblings weren't at each other's throats. Liam and Padraic peered over Darragh's shoulder, curiosity peeked.

They continued screaming at one another. No topic was off-limits. At one point, Catherine brought up something Brien had done when he was eleven.

"Should we intervene?" Darragh asked. He was supposed to be keeping her stress down, and an argument with her brother wasn't very calming.

"Nah," Liam answered. "This is nothin'. When they were younger, they would body-slam each other."

Darragh gave Patrick the side-eye. He wondered where they could have possibly learned that from.

"You wanna know what you and Mary McGregor have in common?" Brien taunted Catherine. "You're both whores."

"Oh boy." Liam and Patrick whispered in unison.

They all knew what was coming next. Patrick was the first to dash into the kitchen, but before he could get between them, Catherine swung and clobbered Brien's right eye.

As Patrick managed to push Catherine out the back door so she could calm down, Olivia rushed in to aid her youngest son. Darragh stood in the archway, in complete shock over what had happened. In less than a minute it went from zero-to-sixty.

"Ma, she sucker-punched me," Brien whined.

Olivia handed him a bag of frozen carrots for his eye and then smacked him on the back of the head. "And ya deserved it, too, wee shit."

With an amusing smile, Fiona chuckled at Darragh's utter disbelief. He looked at her with eyes the size of saucers. That only made her laugh harder. "She's just like her daddy. Welcome to the family."


	31. Heavy Heirloom

Placing a glass of whiskey in front of her brother, Catherine slid into the chair beside to him. Brien picked up the glass and swirled the amber liquor, recollecting what he said to her. Hours after Darragh had taken her back to his house, Brien knew it would eat him away if he didn't stop over and apologize. He did feel sorry for spitting words he hardly meant.

"Do you think I'm a whore?"

"I don't." The tender bruise around his eye served as a reminder of how upset he made her. If she didn't think it was true, she would have laughed off the insult. Swallowing a mouthful of drink, his eyes softened at his baby sister. "Is that what you think of yourself?"

Catherine shifted in the chair, tucking her ankle under her knee. The hesitation told Brien everything he needed to know. "A bit, I suppose. When I was at Musgrave, for forty-five hours all the PSNI called me was 'Provo cunt' and 'Provo whore.' After a while, it got me thinkin'. And then the pregnancy…"

Now Brien felt even worse about saying what he did. She hadn't divulged much about what she experienced during her interrogation, but he should have known that the first thing the PSNI would do is try to break her down emotionally.

"If it means anything, no one thinks you are one."

"I highly doubt that. I got knocked up while I was with another-"

"Okay, that's where I'm gonna stop you." Leaning over in his chair, Brien peered over to see if Darragh was still sound asleep on the sofa. Pumped full of scotch and narcotics, he'd be out for at least the night. "Everyone knows it was Jimmy who knocked you up."

Catherine's face turned redder than a tomato. That revelation had her feeling overly humiliated. "Everyone?"

"Everyone. Da, Liam, me. SAMBEL, even the lads from Dungloe. Liam said the True Army knows. I think the only two who have convinced themselves it's Darragh, is Ma and Fiona because they don't want to face the fact you're havin' Jimmy's baby."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she groaned, covering her face with her hands.

Brien reached over and rubbed Catherine's back. He couldn't blame her and Darragh for concocting a plan to keep it quiet. From the first night Catherine announced her pregnancy, they knew there was no possibility Darragh could be the father. They were willing to turn a blind-eye because Darragh was far better than the alternative.

What she didn't know was that those men would do whatever they could to protect her secret. They had all seen the hell Jimmy put her through and didn't want her to be tied to him for the next eighteen years.

A loud snore and a whimper from the couch pulled Catherine from her mind. Without a second thought, she jumped into action. It warmed Brien's heart to watch his sister rearrange the pillows that were padding Darragh's left side and she tucked the blanket around him before placing a kiss to his forehead. Brien knew she would make a wonderful mother.

"You love him, don't you?" Brien asked when she returned to the table.

Catherine couldn't take her eyes off Darragh as he slept. "Aye. With every bone in my body."

It had taken her a long time to get there, but she was finally separating the feelings she had felt for Jimmy with the love that flourished for Darragh.

"I'm worried about him," Catherine admitted for the first time. "He's strugglin' to find work and he's too proud to go on the dole. It's pushin' him in deeper with the cause again. I'm afraid he'll end up back in prison or dead."

Prison or death. Those were the fates of any man who stayed in the IRA for too long. Catherine wasn't sure as to how much longer she had until it was time to decide to leave.

Brien could only offer her a sympathetic smile. He sank into his chair as he watched her eyes fill with despair.

The next morning, Brien cashed in a favor he was owed by a local builder. Two days later, Darragh was hired as a bricklayer.

* * *

With the ILPA operation looming less than forty-eight hours away, Catherine could hardly focus at work. It was mid-afternoon when Jimmy casually waltzed into the Sinn Fein advice center on the lower Falls and he found her sitting behind the front desk. She was slightly agitated, though creating the flyer which advertised the next community meeting did calm her nerves.

When she looked up from her computer to see Jimmy, she nearly had a heart attack. Since the passage of the Belfast Agreement, Sinn Fein had been going the extra mile to publically distance themselves from the remaining dissident republicans. Catherine's activity was well known in the Sinn Fein inner-circle, but they agreed to hire her just as long as she kept the Ra at arm's length from their workings. She didn't believe in any of what the workers there were doing and felt rather betrayed by their push for political peace. She was there for more than just the paycheck—clandestinely doing her reconnaissance to gather intel on possible high-profile targets.

Jumping up from her chair, Catherine grabbed Jimmy by the sleeve and dragged him outside. Rounding the corner to Sevastopol Street, she pushed him against the brick wall, which bore the large mural of Bobby Sands.

"Are you tryin' to get me sacked?" She didn't bother hiding the irritation in her voice. "If they see you coming around here, they'll fire me."

"You'll always have a job in the Short Strand."

"They pay better. Plus, the work is a little more stimulating than pulling pints and pouring shots." Jimmy rolled his eyes at the jab and reached into his pocket. Catherine took the small folded piece of paper and immediately slipped it into her own. She knew better than to open it in public. "What's this?"

"I ordered somethin', but unfortunately it's stuck in Dundalk. Fiona's up my ass about bein' home more, so do you think you can make the trip and grab it for me?"

He was putting the responsibility of retrieving the arms cache for the IPLA operation on her. Four months ago, Catherine would have been all over the opportunity to go midnight digging for rifles and pistols. Now, the idea of traveling to the Republic on a moments notice was less than exhilarating. Jimmy asking her to do this was nothing more than punishment because he was still upset with her.

She shook her head. "You know that's not my job anymore."

"It's not me askin, Catherine. Since I can't go, the man of the house asked for you—specifically."

Now she was just confused. Why in the world would Darragh want her to go? He hadn't dropped the slightest hint that he wanted her, and not the unit's quartermaster to do the job. Since it was Darragh and not Jimmy asking, she couldn't say no. He and Sullivan were swamped or else they would be doing it on their own. Plus, she felt honored that she had been Darragh's first choice.

"Fine. What time?"

"After the nightly news. It's a heavy heirloom so I've arranged for a bloke in Cross to help you."

Catherine prayed the bloke from Crossmaglen wasn't Eddie Hayes. She thought he was a nice kid and served the cause well, but she didn't trust him as far as she could throw him. In her experience, Eddie seemed like the kind of guy who would easily crack under pressure of the police and spill every ounce of information he had on the IRA. She had developed an unguarded working relationship with his father, Cameron, but the junior Hayes' reputation in south Armagh wasn't raving.

"Who should I be keepin' an eye out for?"

"Dennehy," he was quick to answer, and she took a sigh of relief. "You know where to find him, yeah?"

Catherine nodded. Satisfied, Jimmy bid her goodbye and headed back to east Belfast.

* * *

It had been a year since Catherine last saw the likes of Dessie Dennehy. Once upon a time, the OC of the Crossmaglen unit intimidated the doe-eyed IRA woman, but it didn't take long for mutual respect to grow.

Less than a decade ago, Dessie and Jimmy had filled the south Armagh area, known as Bandit Country, with paralyzing fear. During the sniping campaign, they were the reason troops refused to go on night patrols. The army also deemed it unsafe for the roads to be used, which forced soldiers to be flown in by helicopter.

After she was officially sworn in, Jimmy had sent Catherine to the small townland near the border for four weeks to train with the IRA's most ferocious command. Dessie had taught her well with a baptism by fire approach. Her first night there, he brought her along on an operation in which they fired several mortar shells at the British army base.

When her month was over, Patrick and Jimmy had to drag Catherine back to Belfast kicking and screaming. Having spent time in the heart of the armed conflict, she was reluctant to begin her role as a trafficker. Everyone could see she was a Fenian who bled orange, white, and green, and desperately sought to have a place in the fighting.

When she walked into the dimly lit pub just off Newry Road, Catherine quickly spotted Dessie sitting at the bar. He was wearing Doc Marten boots, a green flying jacket and Wrangler jeans—the quintessence of a Provo if there ever was one.

Sneaking up behind him, she double-tapped his shoulder. Setting his pint down, Dessie quickly turned his head and lit up when he saw Catherine.

"Jesus, look at ya." He stood up from his barstool and engulfed her into a hug. She squeezed back with the same enthusiasm, thankful there was no lingering discomfort from their last encounter. "I heard through the grapevine ya were expectin' a wee one, but I almost didn't believe it."

Settling on to the empty barstool beside Dessie, Catherine rubbed her swollen belly. "Aye. Needless to say, I was a bit shocked too, at first."

They spent a few minutes catching up on everything life had thrown at them over the last year. It was rare for the Belfast and south Armagh Brigades to muddle in each other's business, both occupational and personal. But Catherine had grown very fond of the lads in Crossmaglen after they began a joint effort to smuggle cigarettes.

The extra cash helped pay for the guns she and Jimmy were buying. The cheap smokes came from the Irish mob in Boston, where they would intercept the shipping container in Dublin before brining them into Northern Ireland. Thousands of cartons were sold in pubs across Ulster and the profits were hefty.

When Dessie asked why she hadn't tagged along with Jimmy on the latest import, he was relieved to hear it hadn't been because of his past ungentlemanly behavior. He admitted he read the signs wrong and felt like a dirty old degenerate for making moves on a girl who was young enough to be his daughter. It pleased him to hear she was part of an active service unit now. That would mean they'd see more of one another.

"No shit." He spoke into his pint of Guinness. "Who's your OC?"

"Darragh Ryan."

"I remember Darragh from Maghaberry. He's the fella who went down for killin' the wee daughter of the UVF's chief of staff. They had it out for him because of that. That boy's guardian angel is workin' overtime keepin' him alive."

That was the first time Catherine had heard someone talk openly about the crime Darragh had been convicted of. She had followed his trial closely, to the point of getting in trouble at school, because she was ditching class to be in court. Though the judge had branded Darragh a murderer with a guilty verdict, Catherine didn't believe that he was the one who pulled the trigger. Rather, she refused to believe it.

Catherine took a long drink of water. Considering the recent ass-kicking Darragh had taken from the UVF, she couldn't stop from wondering when his luck would run out. It was a blessing he had even made it out of prison alive. Nothing was stopping the loyalist paramilitary command from putting a hollow point right between his eyes. For Darragh, the fear of never knowing when it would happen was worse than the realization that he was living on borrowed time.

"Those RUC bastards set him up—they had no evidence. The only reason they even bothered investigatin', was because one of their own had been shot. If it had happened to one of the King's, there would have been a parade down the Falls in celebration."

"Amen to that," Dessie said, clinking his glass with Catherine's. Swallowing the last of his beer, he glanced at his watch. It was time for them to hit the road. Tossing a tenner onto the bar, he stood. "We should get goin'."

It was a twenty-minute drive over the border to where the weapons cache was stashed. Following a map and the coordinates Jimmy had given her, Catherine was sure it was buried in the middle of a field just outside Inniskeen.

With Dessie following in a stolen car behind her, she signaled to him to turn off his headlights as they approached the area. Turning onto a single lane dirt road, Catherine reset the trip odometer. If she followed Jimmy's instructions properly, it should be a mile and a half down the road.

Parking the car, Catherine grabbed the map and her pistol from under the seat. Getting out, she tucked the Glock into the back waistband of her jeans as Dessie grabbed two shovels and flashlights from the back of his SUV. He flipped on one of the flashlights as he approached the stolen car she was driving.

Spreading out the map on the hood of the car, they stayed silent as she showed which direction they were headed.

When they were sure they reached the spot, Dessie handed Catherine a shovel and they started digging. Despite being four months pregnant, Catherine handled the shovel like a pro, never once stopping to complain. Dessie had always admired her dedication, taking her oath to obey all orders seriously.

"No chance I can convince you to join us in Cross?" he asked, tossing a heap of dirt to the side.

It was a tempting offer. Being asked to join a unit in Crossmaglen would have been a dream come true for her six months ago. Now, she couldn't bring herself to voluntarily leave Belfast, wanting Eamonn to grow up in the same city she did.

Using her foot to slice the shovel into the damp earth, Catherine shook her head. "No chance. You know I'm a Belfast girl through and through."

Just as he was about to open his mouth and throw a joke her way, Dessie's shovel hit the canvas of the buried bag. That was then they ditched the shovels and dropped to their knees to start tilling with their gloved hands. Pulling out the first of five bags, Catherine unzipped it just to make sure it was their hardware.

Four AR-18s and two Browning pistols. Yep, that was a True Army kit.

"How many of the AR's do ya need?" Dessie opened the second bag counting out another four. Since only six of the twenty-one volunteers were from south Armagh, Catherine would be taking a majority of the tools back to Belfast with her.

"I only need thirteen. But, you know how Jimmy is, there's gonna be more than we need-"

Before the last word could be spoken, Catherine and Dessie froze when a flood of headlights fell upon them. They were dressed head to toe in back, knee-deep in a hole with open bags off to the side. Anyone native to the country would know exactly what they were up to. It wasn't so much getting caught that had Catherine panicking, it was that she had stupidly taken off her balaclava when she dove into the bag.

"We're in the middle of fuckin' nowhere," Catherine muttered, too afraid to turn around.

"Give it a minute. It's probably just a farmer." Dessie wasn't sure if he was reassuring Catherine or himself. "Do you have anything on you?"

Not daring to say another word, she only nodded. He warned her not to be stupid, but all she was focused on was not ending up back in jail.

The second Catherine heard the sound of a car door closing, she reached for the pistol in her waistband. Quickly turning around, she raised the gun and pulled the trigger three times. Half-blinded by the bright headlights, she still managed to hit her target.

He went down after catching a slug in the throat.

Dropping the pistol on the ground in front of her, Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. "Please tell me he wasn't part of the Guards."

Dessie patted Catherine on the back before he jumped out of the hole. "Congrats, kid. You just took out your first police officer."


	32. Animal Instinct

Darragh glanced at his watch as he sipped his pint of Harp. He drummed his fingers on the bar at The Rock and swore under his breath.

He was there to meet his quartermaster, Brendan Sullivan, for a quick drink and some dinner to discuss the temporary storage arrangements for the kit Catherine was bringing back from the Republic.

Much to his displeasure, Sullivan was over an hour late and every time he tried to call him, it would go to voicemail. Sullivan wasn't the most punctual of people, but he had enough manners to forewarn when he would be running late.

On the television over the bar, Darragh did his best to focus on the Gaelic football match. He found it nearly impossible to concentrate. His mind was racing, suddenly realizing there were still many loose ends to tie up before the operation. As a man who was quick to decide the best course of action, he was feeling unusually overwhelmed. He chalked it up to exhaustion.

The time drew closer and closer to midnight. Just as Darragh was about to give up and go home, he noticed an agitated and winded Catherine slink into the pub.

Bad news was written all over her face, so dread instantly began coursing through his veins. There were about a hundred-and-one ways this evening could go wrong and it seemed they were all happening.

Taking a seat beside Darragh, Catherine stayed silent for a moment as she tried to collect herself. It was safe to say she was still in shock thanks to the events that had taken place over the last three hours. Slowly, the reality was beginning to set in.

Leaving him befuddled, Catherine ordered a double shot of whiskey. After the bartender filled the glass, she grabbed it and turned to face Darragh.

"A Guard was taken out. And I'm the one who did it."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Catherine handed the whiskey to Darragh. When he fully comprehended what she had just told him, he immediately knocked it back. What left him infuriated wasn't so much the fact that Catherine just admitted to the murder of a police officer from the Republic—it was the issue of a tout was once again rearing its ugly self. And the foremost, the tout had set him, not Catherine, up to be caught with those weapons.

"And the heirlooms. Where are they?" Darragh asked.

"With Dessie."

This was why Darragh trusted Catherine as much as he did. She was smart enough not to travel back to Belfast with a car-load of illegal Armalites and pistols once she realized it had been s trap. If a Guard stopped at the cache site, there was no way of knowing if the British army or PSNI would be waiting at the border to seize the weapons and arrest her.

There was only one name that popped into Darragh's head. His absentee quartermaster. The only other man who knew just where in County Monaghan the hardware was buried. For now, he decided to keep that information to himself.

"As much as it bloody pains me to say this, we have to go find Jimmy."

"Aye." She paused, quickly observing her surroundings. "You don't think it was him who touted, do you?"

Darragh was taken back by Catherine's brazen accusation. Incriminating a fellow volunteer—especially the brigade's most senior officer—of being a tout could have detrimental consequences both the accused or accuser. He was left wondering if Catherine had information he didn't know about. But he understood how nerve-racking it was for her to have been surprised by both the PSNI and the Guards in less than three months. Right now in her mind, everyone was a possible informer.

He reassured her. "You know Jimmy better than anyone in this world. Again, as much as it pains me to admit, of all the things he is, a rat isn't one of them. He believes in the idea of the paramilitaries policing their areas. Nor would he hand over anyone to the peelers to save himself."

"You're right. I'm just edgy is all." Catherine ran her hand through Darragh's freshly cropped hair. She couldn't say she was a fan of the shorter style, but he was still sultry nonetheless. He looked exhausted from working nearly sixteen-hour days over the last week. "The longer we wait to tell him, the more cross he'll be."

In agreement, Darragh paid for his drinks and they left in search of Jimmy.

* * *

Accustom to having visitors at all hours of the night, Fiona wasted no time in brewing a pot of tea and reheating sausage rolls for Catherine and Darragh. The matriarch of the house seemingly had little animosity towards the former lover of her partner. Considering six months ago, Fiona never would have allowed Catherine to step foot inside her home, let alone offer tea and sustenance.

After Catherine told Jimmy what had gone down, Fiona graciously handed him the bottle of whiskey and he added a heavy shot into his tea.

"And the guns?" he asked.

Jimmy's lukewarm demeanor worried Catherine. She didn't like not being able to read him, because she wanted to be prepared for one of his infamous mood swings. He was livid but internalized it as he didn't want to shake her any more than she already was. None of his indignations was toward her as it quickly became evident to him too, that it had been a setup. Not only was this the first time she had taken out an officer, but it was also the first time she had personally taken a life.

Eventually, the guilt would start eating away at her. Until then, Jimmy and Darragh were in a silent agreement that it was important to keep her active in the cause. If they kept her focused, she wouldn't have anything to feel guilty about.

"Dessie took them to the meeting house in Dundalk. I didn't think it would be a good idea for either of us to cross the border with them tonight. He said he'll arrange for a scout car in the morning to get to Newry, where I'll meet him and pick up the kit we need."

Jimmy shook his head. "You're not going alone. What time?"

"He said he'll text me when I should leave. The codeword is Kerrygold."

"Like the butter?" Darragh asked, chuckling.

"Just like the butter." Catherine busied herself tearing in a warm sausage roll. She didn't care that both men were staring at her in wonderment, unsure what to make of her choice in the codeword. Swallowing, she shrugged her shoulders. "Listen, after nearly three months of constant barfing, I finally have an appetite, so excuse me if all I can think about is food."

Fiona refilled Catherine's mug. "Ignore them, Caitie. They like to pretend they're tough blokes, but we both know they're cryin' like babies when they catch a cold."

"Ain't that the truth," she agreed.

Darragh chimed in, reminding Catherine that he was laying bricks for nearly twelve hours a day with ribs that were still fractured. He had more than earned his title as one tough son-of-a-bitch.

"I'll give you that." Catherine leaned over and kissed Darragh. Fiona smiled at the display of affection and Jimmy was sure he was about to lose his dinner. Seeing them together never got any easier for Jimmy. Especially the bigger her belly got.

Desperate to get back to the task at hand, Jimmy interrupted the chatter between Catherine and Fiona. It was also peculiar to see the two women being so civil around one another.

He didn't like it.

Jimmy asked Darragh if he would be able to go with Catherine to Newry.

"I'm workin' but I can arrange for Kieran to go with her." Until Darragh knew why his quartermaster had been dodging his calls all night, he wouldn't let Sullivan anywhere near those weapons.

"Considering this was a ploy to get _you_ caught with the hardware, I think it would be wise to keep the rest of your unit out of the loop on this one. Anyone finds out where we're meetin' Dessie, not only do we go down, but south Armagh does as well."

Again, Darragh resented the fact that Jimmy was right. It was becoming clearer that no one could be trusted at this point. The hardest pill to swallow was that tout could be one his own.

Setting the half-eaten sausage roll down, Catherine flicked the crumbs off her fingers before rubbing her eyes. She knew what had to happen, even though she wasn't thrilled about it. This had been something she was looking forward to, but at the same time, she wanted to avoid any drama between Darragh and Jimmy.

"I shouldn't be the one pickin' the hardware up tomorrow. Regardless, this fuck up falls on my shoulders, so another unit should do it. Maybe I should sit out the operation tomorrow, too."

"Catch yourself on," Fiona was fast to interject. "You're lookin' to make commander soon, as I do recall. If you don't show up in Newry tomorrow or go through with the plans for the operation, you've any idea how weak you'll look to the lads? Tout or no tout, a leader shows their face. Do you know who runs and hides, Catherine? A coward. If your Da or Filip heard ya talkin' that nonsense, they'd be right to give you a crack."

Catherine gulped. The last thing she ever expected was an ass-chewing on her professional conduct from Fiona. It had been nearly a decade since Fiona had last been active in any IRA dealings, but the Provo fire was still lit in her heart. Though the bitterness of Catherine's betrayal was still fresh, she couldn't bring herself to stand idly by and watch Catherine sink her future by acting gutless when she was anything but. A blind man could see the potential the young woman possessed to one day become part of the council—she'd hate to see it wasted because of fear.

To Fiona, the past was the past and she was willing to forgive Catherine for her transgressions. So long as it didn't happen again.

Darragh too added a shot of whiskey into his tea, feeling defeated that he hadn't been able to protect Catherine from what transpired in that abandoned field. That should have been him firing that pistol, not her. Fiona's approach to snap Catherine out of her funk was brash, but perhaps brash was exactly what she needed. "Fi's right, ya know. Regardless, you have a job to do."

"Aye." Sitting back in her chair, she avoided eye contact with everyone at the table. She was embarrassed, realizing she didn't mean what she said. "Since you're workin' and Kieran is out of the question, who's gonna come with me then?"

Jimmy didn't hesitate to answer. "I will."

"Of course you will," Darragh said under his breath.

It was intentionally said loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. Catherine glared at Darragh, as she explicitly told him on the drive over not to cause any drama. Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose, flooded with the memories of what happened the last time Darragh and Jimmy had gotten into it.

"You got a problem with that, Ryan?"

Looking up from his tea, Darragh first saw Catherine's pleading expression. He did have a problem with Jimmy going to Newry with his girlfriend, but he wanted to keep the peace at home even more. There was no way he could get out of work tomorrow and he agreed that she shouldn't be going alone. It felt like he was between a rock and a hard place. He trusted Catherine—it was Jimmy whom he didn't. Nonetheless, Jimmy was his superior officer and if he said he was to Newry with Catherine, there was nothing Darragh could do.

"Nope. There's no problem." Standing up, Darragh thanked Fiona for the tea and sausage rolls. He told Jimmy that Catherine would let him know in the morning when Dessie got a hold of her. "We should get goin' a chuisle, it's late."

Hearing Jimmy's pet-name for Catherine roll-off Darragh's tongue, her eyes almost budged out of her skull and Fiona coughed to suppress a laugh. Jimmy nearly had an aneurism.

* * *

Unable to get much sleep, Catherine was showered and dressed before nine. Saying goodbye to Darragh that morning had been far more excruciating than she expected. Over the last week, they hadn't spent much time together as their responsibilities had been pulling them in opposite directions. After the IPLA operation the following evening, Catherine was hoping Jimmy would allow her and Darragh to take a few days off from the IRA. If they could manage to free up a weekend, Darragh promised Catherine he would finally bring her to Donegal. He was acclimated to life in Northern Ireland, but Catherine was curious to see where he had been reared.

Six years of knowing one another, she still didn't know why he had decided to give up his life in the Republic and join the Ra. It wasn't because she didn't care to know, it was because Catherine was raised not to ask questions.

As she folded laundry in the living room, she focused her attention on the television. The BBC was recapping an interview with Gerry Adams' from the previous night. All she could do was roll her eyes at every word that spilled from his mouth. Like her father and brother, Catherine detested the Sinn Fein leader's "Armalite and the ballot box" approach. She would settle for nothing less than a unified Ireland and saw the Belfast Agreement to be a slap in the face to the republican movement. Until that day, she would follow Darragh, Jimmy, and Patrick, with an Armalite in one hand and her rosary beads in the other.

Adding another clean pair of Darragh's briefs to the folded pile on the coffee table, Catherine muted the television when her phone vibrated beside her. Not bothering to look and see who was calling, she answered.

"Hey, Kerrygold, I'm outside." It was Jimmy. She couldn't help but smile at his use of the code word. "What do ya say we get outta Belfast for a bit? I know of a wee place in Lisburn that has a brilliant menu."

Looking at her watch and realizing how early it still was, his offer was tempting. Catherine knew Darragh would have a heart attack if he were to find out she spent more time than necessary with Jimmy. On the other hand, a little change of scenery, even if it were for an hour or two, sounded amazing.

"I'll be right out."

Snapping her phone shut and turning off the T.V., Catherine raced up the stairs to their bedroom.

After Darragh's attack, she had officially moved into his place. It had only been less than a week, but she was sure she'd never grow tired of seeing their possessions intermixed. Spritzing her perfume onto her pressure points, Catherine then fluffed out her curls and applied a light coat of lipstick. After putting on her shoes, she double-checked her outfit. It wasn't that she was purposely trying to look good for Jimmy, she just knew he appreciated a put-together appearance. Satisfied with how she looked, Catherine grabbed her purse before dashing outside out.

Jimmy was standing on the sidewalk, his back resting against a black Jeep. It had been stolen.

"This is quite a surprise."

Jimmy shrugged. "I miss my girl."

She cocked an eyebrow and threw him a look that said, _don't start with that shite._

It was the truth. He missed Catherine more than he'd like to admit. It wasn't because she was a mind-blowing fuck, either. Jimmy genuinely missed her glittering presence, the hours they'd spend deep in conversation. He even missed the way she'd hijack the radio the moment she got into the car with him, playing the mainstream music he generally loathed.

At first, he thought her going under Darragh's command would bring them closer as they had been suffocating one another. Never in a million years did he think Darragh and Catherine would end up as a couple, and Jimmy would do anything possible to have them split by the year's end.

He would never allow a man to be in Catherine's life so intimately without him digging into the bloke's past. The paperwork Jimmy had sitting locked in the bottom drawer of his desk at home was surely the smoking gun that would send Catherine packing her bags. Knowing it would utterly destroy her emotionally, Jimmy decided to keep it under lock and key until the IPLA operation was over, as that's where he needed her full attention for now.

He didn't say another word, just opened the passenger door so Catherine could hop in.

* * *

Jimmy smeared globs of strawberry jam and clotted cream onto his scone. Even preoccupied with satisfying his hunger, he could always tell when something was on Catherine's mind. She sat back in her chair, staring off into space as she stirred the sugar she had added to her tea five minutes ago.

The expression on her face was blank. Jimmy knew what she was thinking of. Bringing Catherine to Lisburn wasn't done intentionally to bring some of her repressed memories to the surface. He did enjoy the coffee and scones from the small cafe, having pushed it out of his mind what sat to their south and east. It was easier to just not think of it.

For a moment he stayed quiet, remembering how upset a young Catherine would get after having to say goodbye to Patrick at Long Kesh. He had no idea about the times she had cried in Liam's arms in the car park at Maghaberry after visiting with Darragh.

"So, you're callin' the wee one, Eamonn. It means the world to me that you're namin' _our _boy after my brother."

Catherine snapped from her trance. She smiled coyly and stole a bite from Jimmy's dressed scone. "Bold of ya to think it's your brother who I'm namin' him after."

So long as Darragh was in the picture, Jimmy knew Catherine would never be able to admit that was the truth behind her son's name.

Jimmy dipped his finger into some of the clotted cream before smudging it on the tip of her adorable button-nose. "Then please, enlighten me as to where the name Patrick Eamonn came from."

Catherine couldn't help but smile and laugh at Jimmy's playfulness. Seeing him relaxed and in a good mood was a very good sign for her, especially considering the circumstances of the last ten hours.

"I guess you could say in some roundabout way he's named after his da, after all," she said, wiping the cream off her nose her with her napkin. Jimmy furrowed his bow and Catherine could tell he had no idea what she was talking about. Stealthily gazing around the cafe to see if anyone could overhear their conversation, Catherine lowered her voice just enough so only he could hear her. She crooned lyrics to a rebel song, "the next time that you see the Brit's with their face's full of fright, watch out for One-Shot Paddy and his friend called Eamonn Wright."

After taking a sip of his coffee and setting the mug on the table, Jimmy sat back in the chair. When it clicked, he was beyond impressed.

The way he stared at Catherine made her blush. She recognized the devilish smirk he wore.

"You're a sly girl."

Catherine shrugged. "I learned from the best, I suppose."

Her burner phone buzzed on the table. Before she could reach for it, Jimmy snatched it up and flipped it open. The text message was clearly from Dessie.

_Ran out for Kerrygold. Should be home in about 20 mins. _

Snapping the phone shut, he tossed it to her. "Let's hit the road, a chuisle."

* * *

Ten miles north of Newry on the A1, Jimmy and Catherine sat in comfortable silence. Her head was resting on the window as she watched the cars pass them in the opposite direction. She tried like hell to stop replaying the events from last night over in her head, but all she could see was the police officer lying in the lush grass with a hole in his throat. Over the music softly playing from the radio, all she could hear was the gurgling sound of him choking on his blood.

As for Jimmy, it was hard for him to keep the smug grin off his face. Finding out that Catherine had chosen the name Patrick Eamonn to reference the nicknames that IRA snipers were given, made him gloat a little more than if the wee one was named James. He prayed that one day he'd be able to share the stories from his glory days as an IRA sniper with his son. Instill in Eamonn the dreams of Pearse and Connolly, just as they were instilled in him shortly before the Troubles had broken out.

Realizing how unusually quiet Catherine was, Jimmy took his eyes off the road for a quick second to make sure she was okay. Normally, it didn't matter if it was a ten-minute drive or a four hour one to Tralee in County Kerry, she would be talking his ear off about anything and everything.

"Feelin' okay, a chuisle?"

Hearing Darragh call her that last night, had brought Jimmy to an entirely new level of indigent, and he was still struggling to come down from that high. But he refused to take his bitterness towards Darragh out on Catherine. That would only push her further into Darragh's arms.

Lifting her head off the window, Catherine looked over at Jimmy and nodded. "Aye. Just tired is all. Lookin' forward to havin' a few days off."

Keeping one hand on the steering wheel, he reached over with the other, resting it nonchalantly on her thigh. He gave it a firm squeeze, feeling the searing white heat in his belly as he remembered what it felt like to have those legs tightly wrapped around him. Catherine's gaze darted down, watching his knuckles twitch. Her heart was beating out of control and she forgot how to breathe. Carefully watching Jimmy, she realized he was stealing the occasional glance. When his hand began to move north, she instinctually slouched slightly.

Jimmy could feel his heart begin to race, too. All the blood drained from his head to below the waist. For over two months, he had been craving to get his hands on Catherine again. He loved the way she utterly unraveled under his touch. He missed the feeling of her nails digging into his back and the beautiful way her face twisted when she was in the throes of an orgasm.

Not breaking his concentration on the road, Jimmy found the button of her jeans. He unfastened it, quickly moving to unzip the fly.

"Lean the seat back a little for me."

In her head, a voice was screaming at Catherine to slap Jimmy's hand away. She was so mad, she wanted to cry. She wasn't supposed to want him ever again. Not after what happened in California. Especially not after what happened in the kitchen at her parent's house when he had gotten back from the Middle East.

Catherine hated herself for craving Jimmy just as badly as he craved her. Every nerve ending lit up at the idea of him touching her. She squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to visualize Darragh—remind her of the one man who loved her more than she could ever comprehend. But she couldn't see him. All she saw was the delicious ending that Jimmy was about to give her.

With her rational thoughts thirty miles back in Belfast, Catherine didn't hesitate to lean her seat back so she could give him a little room to work. Not daring to take his eyes off the road for even a second, Jimmy straightened up as he slid his hand under her panties. He was instantly greeted with her familiar slick heat and he went in search of what he wanted to feel most.

"Have you missed this, baby?" he asked. His middle finger deliberately teased just the opening of her soaked hole.

All she could do was nod her head and bite her lip in an attempt to suppress her cries as Jimmy put her out of her misery. He slowly traced circles around her swollen clit, the exquisite pleasure nearly frying her brain.

"Don't you fuckin' hold back," he warned. "I wanna hear every filthy sound come out of that beautiful mouth of yours."

Catherine complied. She let out an animalistic mewl just as Jimmy slid a finger, two knuckles deep, inside her. He curled it just slightly, hitting her trigger.

"Fuckin' hell, Jimmy," she moaned, tears collecting in the corners of her eyes.

Feeling her start to squirm, Jimmy prolonged her building release by alternating slow and concentrated strokes on her clit and g-spot. Hearing Catherine cry out his name was arousing him so badly, his cock was strangulated in his pants. He white-knuckled the steering wheel. Having Catherine at his mercy like this ignited his burning lust like never before. He had never been so wound-up in his life. So much so, that he was sure he would pop faster than a teenager if he could get her sweet mouth wrapped him.

It killed him not being able to watch her wither.

"Does Darragh make you feel this good?"

Catherine blurted out, "fuck no!" just as Jimmy hit her g-spot and clit at the same time. She closed her eyes and bit her lip, feeling the blissful waves of ecstasy crash into her. He felt victorious by her answer, especially as he felt her come all over his fingers.

As she sat still catching her breath, Jimmy eased his fingers from her panties. Hearing a familiar sound, Catherine opened her eyes and looked over to see what he was up to.

"What are you doin'?" she asked, watching him unfasten his belt.

Jimmy raised his eyebrows at Catherine as he freed his steely cock. "Figured you'd be the goddamn good girl I know you are and return the favor."

Pulling the hair tie off her wrist, Catherine wasted no time tossing her hair into a top-knot. Glancing at her, he smiled when he saw the fire smoldering in those lustful eyes of hers.


	33. Adharcáilí

Catherine came up behind Darragh and adoringly wrapped her arms around him. She kissed his temple, smelling his stale deodorant. She could taste the salty traces of sweat still lingering on his skin. It was painfully obvious how exhausted he was, and Catherine wished he could have one night of quiet.

"You wanna eat before the fellas get here?" she mumbled into his ear.

Darragh kissed and nipped her forearm, starting to feel more like his usual frisky self. He glanced at the clock on the stove, satisfied to see he had more than enough time for what he had in mind.

"Aye. I'm starving, gorgeous."

"I've got champ and a couple of sausages I can reheat- " Catherine was interrupted and a shrill squeal of surprise escaped her mouth as Darragh swung her around. He pushed her down on the kitchen table, where she propped herself up on her elbows. By the way he instantly attacked the button and fly of her jeans, something told Catherine it wasn't food he has a taste for.

Her heart pounded in her chest as Darragh ripped the denim off her legs, tossing the useless garment over his shoulder. Next to come off was her shirt, and then he freed her swollen breasts from her bra. There wasn't the slightest trace of Jimmy anywhere to be found in her mind as Darragh's full, sturdy lips pressed ravenous kisses on to her mouth.

It didn't matter how many times they kissed, each brush of their lips was electrifying. One of her hands dove into his thick hair, as the other snaked under his shirt. Her fingers danced along the soft ridges of muscles along his abdomen and she hooked a leg around his waist to tug him closer against her. Darragh was the only man whose hands she ever wanted to feel on her.

He licked her bottom lip, to which Catherine returned the gesture. The sound of his bursting groan sent a chill down her spine. Rough hands glided up her sides, groping her breasts, rolling pink beaded nipples between calloused fingers. She broke the kiss, rolling her head back and losing herself in the jolts of searing pleasure.

"On your back," he ordered. His voice was rough, thundering with intense need.

Before she went all the way down, Catherine teased Darragh, brushing her hand along the crotch of his jeans. He's hard; his erection straining the zipper. He helped ease her back, pushing the mail and _Irish Times _to the floor.

Sliding a finger down her body, he situated himself in the chair in front of her. Both hands wrapped around her ankles, planting her heels on the edge of the table.

She slammed her knees together, suddenly feeling self-conscious. And it wasn't because Jimmy had busied himself in that area not too long before.

"Catherine," he warned.

"I haven't showered yet."

Darragh didn't care. He loved every inch of Catherine, showered or not, and all he wanted was to indulge himself in his woman after a stressful couple of days. He couldn't imagine what sort of smells was radiating off of him, after spending the entire day working outdoors.

Along the smooth flesh of her toned calf, he planted his lips. "Open up," he muttered in-between kisses.

The husky tone, mixed with his torrid caress and hot breath blowing over her, Catherine surrendered. Slowly, she parted her legs, exposing herself once and for all to a famished Darragh.

Much to her surprise, he showed restraint and didn't immediately dive in. Rather, he took his time, tracing random shapes along her inner thigh. His touch didn't tickle, but it was still soft enough to send a shiver through her. She parted her legs a little more.

"See what happens when you listen?"

Catherine couldn't find her voice. All she could do was quiver when he brushed his thumb along her inner-lips, kneading the glistening flesh. Her hips rolled and a hiss escaped from her clenched teeth when his fingertip found her clit.

"You're always so sensitive and ready for me."

Again, Catherine couldn't force a single word from her throat. Instead, she let herself go, melting under Darragh's blissful fondle. His thumb brushed over her clit once more. Yet another wail spilled from her mouth as her back arched, pushing herself against him. This time, he let out a very satisfied grunt, becoming more aroused by Catherine's reaction.

Without warning, Darragh slipped a finger inside her at the same time lapping her clit. The flicking of his tongue and the gifted work of his fingers left Catherine wriggling. Darragh was relentless in his greedy torture. The candied moans and pants that filled his ears were his favorite song. Reaching above her head, Catherine curled her fingers around the edge of the table just as she exploded in a fierce orgasm. There was no way the neighbors—or anyone in Belfast—didn't hear the wanton scream that ripped from her.

Darragh stood quickly, dropping his jeans. He gathered Catherine in his arms, bringing her closer to him. He dipped his head, nestling his face into the curve of her neck to suck and sink his teeth into her flush skin.

A noise started Catherine and she twisted her head to see where it had come from. But in her post-orgasmic haze, coupled with Darragh sinking into her and his pelvic bone pressing against her oversensitive clit, she couldn't comprehend that a group of men was standing in the doorway.

Arms folded across their chests, just watching.

Her mouth fell open when she made eye contact with Jimmy. She tried to warn Darragh but as the syllables bubbled in her throat, he bit down just hard enough so that a moan escaped instead. She struggled, pushing against him in hopes of getting his attention.

It wasn't just Jimmy. Dessie and his unit, along with a handful of Belfast lads stood there with lazy smirks stretched over their lips.

"Don't worry about us, a chuisle. Not the first time any of us have seen a pasty Irish ass."

Darragh's blood froze the second he heard that voice echo. He didn't dare move, knowing that if he did Catherine's naked body would be exposed for all to see.

"What the fuck!" he roared, swiveling his neck to look at the perverted bunch who were staring at them. "Don't youse bastards know how to fuckin' knock?"

Seamus Doherty didn't take his eyes off of Catherine in hopes of catching a glimpse of some tit. He tossed his thumb over his shoulder, pointing to the back door. "Sorry. It was open. Didn't wanna interrupt. Every man has the God-given right to get laid in his own house."

Dropping his forehead onto Catherine's chest, Darragh barked, "Get out. Please."

Jimmy dropped the three black duffels with the Armalites and winked at Catherine. Wisely, they all backed out, shutting the door on their way. The roaring laughter didn't fall on deaf ears.

Darragh breathed a sigh of relief when Catherine busted into laughter, not tears. "That was the single most horrifying thing to ever happen to me."

"The one goddamn time they decide to be early, I'm caught balls deep in you." He pressed a quick kiss to forehead before easing out. It was rather impressive that he hadn't lost his hard-on during the commotion. "Though I will admit, it was gratifying to be able to wipe that smug look off Jimmy's face for once."

Pushing Darragh off her a little more, Catherine sat up. She ignored his comment about Jimmy, not wanting to be reminded of him at all. Eying his erection, she asked, "What do you say we head upstairs and finish?"

"I fuckin' love you." Cupping her face in his hands, he sealed his mouth on hers for a smoldering kiss.

* * *

After a quick shower, Catherine waltzed down the stairs to find the living room occupied. She took the jesting with a light heart, knowing it was all in good fun. It didn't offend her being the butt of their jokes, though her quick tongue did shut some of them down awfully fast.

"I wish I could make a girl scream like that," Seamus said.

Gathering the straps to the duffle bags Jimmy was keeping a close eye on, Catherine spat back. "From what I've heard, ya can't even find your poor girl's clit with a map and flashlight."

Satisfied that the attention was now rightfully on Seamus, Catherine brought the bags into the kitchen, tossing them onto the table. Jimmy followed right behind, watching carefully as she covered all of the windows and locked the back door. Tonight, they were prepping the rifles so they'd be ready to go tomorrow evening.

Catherine could feel Jimmy's eyes burning holes into her. She also knew that if looks could kill, she'd drop dead in the middle of the kitchen. Little did she care that she had bruised his delicate ego no less than ten hours ago.

When she reached for the zipper on one of the bags, Jimmy was quick to grab her wrist. "I don't fuckin' think so."

Pulling her hand from him, Catherine annoyingly huffed, defying him by once again, going for the zipper. Thankfully no one was there to witness it when Jimmy pushed Catherine away from the table. He got in between her and the hardware, physically blocking her from it.

"You need to grow the fuck up and let it go, Jimmy. I'm not sixteen anymore—my world doesn't revolve around you."

He ignored her minor outburst. Reaching into his pocket, Jimmy pulled out a small scrap of paper and handed it to her. "This is what I need you to pick up."

Unfolding it, Catherine quickly read the list. Her blood was boiling when she realized what it was. He was sending her out on errands she did when she first started her training.

"This is a joke, right? You want me to get medical supplies and tea? Pick up your goddamn dry-cleaning."

"Have you forgotten your place in the ranks, O'Toole?" he asked condescendingly.

"If you want your bloody clothes picked up, get a recruit to do it. That's what they're for. I risked my arse for those ARs, I'm gonna bloody prep them!"

She had more than earned her spot at the table, loading magazines and chilling out with the other lads. For three years she ran around Belfast doing Jimmy's grunt work, never once daring to complain, always saying 'thank you' when he graced her with another task. Now, she was more than willing to put her foot down.

"I'm not fuckin' doin' this shit. I have an operation tomorrow that I need to prepare for. You're only doin' this to me because I turned ya down for sex. You're pissed I let you double-click my mouse, but I wouldn't jerk you off."

It was true. He was angry that when it came down to it, Catherine refused to return the favor. When they had first gotten together, Catherine was eager to get Jimmy off, despite the fact she had been with Lorcan at the time. Now, she was conveniently remembering Darragh when asked to get on her knees.

Shoving Catherine against the refrigerator, well out of sight from everyone, Jimmy covered her mouth with his hand. She was confused, afraid to even scream as he brought his body flush against hers. With trembling hands, she tried to push him away. Like always, Jimmy overpowered her. Her breathing was ragged as she tried to compose herself and make little noise as possible. To Catherine, it didn't matter that she was scared out of her wits, she still didn't want any of the guys walking in on whatever sick, power-hungry game Jimmy was attempting to play with her.

He kept his gazed locked with hers and spoke with an authoritative quality. "You can go ahead and try to pretend that you're a decent person. But the truth is that you're no better than I am. You're a selfish, spoilt cunt who refuses to grasp reality. I've probably only got a good ten years left before I end up dead or in prison, so here's how it's gonna be until then: when I tell you to jump, you're only response will be 'yes, sir.' Darragh maybe your unit OC, but I am the OC of the entire fucking North Command—you will respect my rank. Is that clear?"

Catherine nodded.

"Grand." Jimmy smiled. "You didn't fool me; I know you only got with Darragh because I wouldn't leave Fiona for you. You're gonna stay with him, just like I'm gonna stay with her, so we can both have our own big happy families. However, whenever I tell you to get on your fuckin' knees for me, you will do so. And when I blow my load down that throat of yours, I expect a 'thank you' afterward."

To that, she shook her head, tears brimming her eyes.

In deliberate motions, Jimmy slid his hand under the elastic waistband of her ADIDAS joggers and panties. She watched as he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth, feeling how wet she was.

"That's what I fuckin' thought," he said, removing his fingers from her pants and his hand from her mouth.

"You're a goddamn pig, ya know that?"

"Aye. But, I'm the pig you've been soakin' your panties for over the last ten years."

There was nothing she could say in response to that and she refused to acknowledge he was correct. Being the intellectual she was, she spat, "Fuck you, Jimmy."

Grabbing her damp ponytail, he yanked her head back. "You should get a move-on, a chuisle. The dry cleaners close soon and I want my suit for the weekend—takin' my girls to Dublin. I'll be sure to leave a list of shite I need ya to do while I'm gone."

The smirk on his face was evident that he only said that to get a rise out of her. It worked. "God, I hate you."

"I know. Nor do I care." He stuffed the list into her pocket and gave her a smack on the ass.

* * *

Darragh caught Catherine putting her shoes on as he was coming down the stairs. Freshly showered, he was dressed in his usual Wrangler jeans and a t-shirt. A cigarette was tucked behind his left ear. He flashed her one of his signature dimpled smiles, and it filled her with a pang of all-consuming guilt. He deserved someone much better than her.

"Where you runnin' off to, gorgeous?"

"You're never gonna believe this," she said, pulling the list of demands from her pocket. "He's making me do bitch work tonight."

Taking the paper from her hand, Darragh read it over. As his brow furrowed, Catherine suddenly became aware of all the aspects about him that she loved dearly.

The way his stormy gray eyes were always laser-focused. The way he rubbed the back of his neck when he was trying to make sense of a situation. But then there was also his Donegal accent that made her weak at the knees. She adored his smile, and how his teeth were slightly crooked but were far from being unsightly. The very first thing she had noticed about Darragh was his strong, defined jaw and prominent chin. Sort of like…

Catherine stopped herself from thinking any further. She wanted to cry when it all came together in her head. The thick head of dark hair, those almond eyes, and shapely eyebrows. Even Darragh's lips and nose.

She was dating a man who bore a frightening resemblance to late-twenties Jimmy.

_What the fuck is wrong with me? _she thought.

"Did anything happen in Newry?" Darragh asked, pulling Catherine from her trance.

He had been on Jimmy's shit-list enough times during his first year in the IRA to know bitch-duty didn't come unwarranted.

No way in Hell was she going to tell him exactly what happened on the drive there. Instead, she gave him a condensed version. "We had a wee tiff."

"Are you fuckin' serious? I knew he would pull shite with me not-"

Catherine shut him up with a kiss. His tongue wove past her lips, causing her to take a sharp breath. She went dizzy at the clean, fresh scent of citrus and cedar scorching off his skin. Darragh pulled away slowly, gliding the tip of his nose along the bridge of hers.

"Jesus," he uttered. "I'll never figure out how a poor fella like me managed to snag a woman like you."

Feeling her jaw begin to quake, Catherine wrapped her arms tightly around Darragh. She snuggled her face into his chest, trying not to cry. She felt like the scum of the Earth for having done what she did.

* * *

Pulling open the back door to Jimmy and Fiona's, Catherine closed it with her foot. She flipped on the lights, not at all surprised to find Fiona and Kerrianne gone. The possibility of IPLA retaliation was high, so Jimmy had arranged for them to spend the night at a safe house in Andersontown until he could get them over the border.

With his dry cleaning flung over Catherine's shoulder, she made a bee-line upstairs to his bedroom. The lamp on the nightstand was already on, giving the room a soft glow. It wasn't the first time she had been in there, but it was always off-putting for her to be in the space he shared intimately with Fiona.

As she hooked the hangers to the back of the door, Catherine noticed his overnight bags were sitting on the made bed. Piles of clothes sat beside it, as did plastic bags filled with his toiletries. Taking a few steps to the edge of the bed, she reached into one of the plastic bags, pulling out his bottle of cologne. She uncapped it and spritzed some into the air, inhaling deeply. When the amber, tobacco, and ginger notes flooded her brain, it left Catherine feeling high. She closed her eyes and remembered how the scent would linger on her sheets for days after sneaking Jimmy into her bedroom when she was still at St. Dominic's. It made her think of better days.

Putting the bottle back, Catherine made sure everything was just as she had found it. Scurrying down the hall, she almost made it to the stairs but became distracted when she passed Jimmy's office. The anger of how he had gone through her personal and private possessions a few weeks ago, burst like a volcano in her belly. Crossing the threshold into the room that was off-limits to most, she was on a mission to make him feel just as violated.

Catherine took a seat at the desk, starting in the drawers. She flipped through stacks of mails, which were nothing more than bills and banks statements. She found his collection of poker chips from cities around the world. Old credit cards, burner cellphones.

Realizing she wouldn't be stumbling upon anything of value in the desk, she almost gave up and left. Until she looked to her left and saw the huge safe pressed against the wall.

Standing in front of it, Catherine closed her eyes trying to think of what the combination was. He was a man who was rightfully paranoid, so he changed the combination often. Though, he cycled through the same ones over and over.

She tried Jimmy's birthday, his late brother's, and Fiona's. Kerrianne's. Her own. Nothing.

Growing frustrated, Catherine backed away knowing Jimmy had outsmarted her this time. He wasn't a complex man when it came to things like this. Almost giving up, she trekked to the door. But before she could reach it, she spotted the collection of biographies on Pádraig Pearse, James Connolly, Séan McDermott, and Éamonn Ceannt on the bookshelf. A framed copy of the Proclamation of the Republic was nailed to the wall.

"No," she said turning around. "There's no way it's that easy."

Rushing back to the safe, Catherine turned the dial—24-4-16. The day the Easter Rising began. Sure enough, she heard the distinct _click_ of the lock disengaging.

She pulled open the door. "You would, you fuckin' Provie."

Much to her relief, there were no firearms, ammunition, or stacks of foreign money. There was nothing in there that would land him in Maghaberry for the rest of his life. The first thing Catherine spotted was the firebox. Grabbing if off the shelf, she took a seat in the armchair and placed the box on the ottoman.

For a moment before opening it, she considered putting it back and leaving. Snooping through someone's belongings wasn't her forte. Just knowing she had gotten into the safe was a big enough victory for her. The only thing that kept her going was her drive to know more about Jimmy's past. He never divulged much about what his life had been like during the height of the Troubles, or his service in the British army. She wondered if the pieces to his haunted life were snuggled in the box in front of her. She also wondered if those pieces would complete the puzzle on why he felt the dire need to suppress his humanity.

Catherine refused to dismiss Jimmy as a psychopath, like everyone else in Belfast. She knew he was a man who felt emotions so profoundly, it led to his—inexcusable—outbursts. Throughout her life, he had made her feel so loved, she worshiped the ground he walked on in return. But, none of that changed the fact Catherine hated the man Jimmy was.

Flipping open the lid, she realized it was exactly what she suspected it to be—his keepsake box. She removed the small revolver, first making sure it was unloaded, then set it on the floor. She glanced through his old report cards from childhood, not at all stunned that he had been a straight-A student. There was an extremely battered copy of the Leon Uris novel _Trinity_.

Seeing photos from his childhood stirred mixed emotions. Even though the boy who was smiling and laughing didn't seem to have a care in the world, Catherine couldn't begin to imagine what Hell the streets of east Belfast was like when the Troubles broke out. In several of the photos, she noticed a brunette boy who was seemingly always by Jimmy's side. Her heart shattered when she realized that the boy was Chibs. There was an entire heap of photos of Jimmy and Chibs, dated from 1966 to 1993. The last one being of Chibs holding a newborn Kerrianne.

"What in God names happened between youse?"

Next, she picked up a slightly heavy orange envelope. Inside was his discharge certificate, dog tag, and a medal. She held the stainless steel medallion of his dog tag in her palm, brushing her fingers along the engraving.

_A NEG  
__34218495  
__O'PHELAN  
__JB  
__RC _

Catherine picked up the medal by it's red and black striped ribbon. The front of it had an imprint of Queen Elizabeth and she turned it over, reading aloud, "For distinguished conduct in the field."

She had no idea what significance it held or why he earned it.

"That's the Distinguished Conduct medal…it's awarded for bravery." Hearing Jimmy's voice put the fear of God into Catherine. Her breath hitched in her throat and her heart almost exploded.

Slowly she turned her head to see him leaning against the doorframe. His arms were crossed over his chest. She was too fearful to move or speak, hoping that if she stayed still, he wouldn't see her.

Pushing off the door, Jimmy walked over to her. He picked up the box and moved it to the floor as he took a seat on the ottoman. Plucking the medal from Catherine's hand, he rolled it around in his fingers. "They gave eight of these out during the Falklands war. Never understood why I got one. Being in the SAS, I assumed bravery was a job requirement."

A question that had been nagging Catherine for the last fifteen years blurted from her mouth. "I don't mean to be rude, but, why did you even join the Army, let alone the SAS? I'm sorry, you just don't strike me as the kind of fella who would run off and fight for Her Majesty."

She watched as Jimmy's eyes clouded with a mixture of sorrow and anger. As he fought for the right words to say, she could tell he was coming apart inside. Never had she seen him struggle for words.

"In Norn Iron, there are men like your da, Liam. Fuck, even Darragh. Men who will do whatever possible to provide for their families—they swallow their pride and go on the dole, or they join the Ra and fight. Then there are the cowards; the ones who run off when shit gets difficult. My father and your mother's. So no, Filip and I didn't run off and enlist in Her Majesty's Armed Forces because we felt it was our patriotic duty to defend the United Kingdom. We knew if we did, we'd be one less mouth to feed at home."

To some extent, Catherine knew Jimmy was ashamed of his military service. The way he dove so deep into the cause was him merely trying to make up for the fact he had once fought for the enemy.

Catherine placed her hand on his knee. "I guess that means you fall into the first category. You do what you have to to provide."

"Aye," he breathed out. Clenching the useless medal in his fist, Jimmy rubbed Catherine's belly with his free hand. "So let me take care of you two. I'm not asking for much here, Caitie. All I want is you and Eamonn."

Had he not said the things he did at her place, she would have been more willing to consider what he was pleading for. She knew he'd be a wonderful father and it broke her to know she was robbing him of a relationship with his son. But what she wasn't sure of, was when it would all come crumbling down. There was enough violence in the streets of Belfast and Catherine didn't want her son growing up in the same environment she had.

She didn't trust that Jimmy wouldn't slap her around in front of Eamonn, just as Patrick had done to Olivia in front of his kids. Nor did she trust that Jimmy wouldn't instigate a physical fight with his boy just as Patrick had done when there was a power struggle between him and his sons.

The one thing she did trust, was that Darragh would do what he could to keep the violence outside the four walls of their home. He was her future. That she was sure of.

"I love him more than anything. He's not goin' anywhere."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I'm not askin' ya to leave him."

"Then what is it that you're purposing?" She knew the answer, she just wanted to hear him say it aloud.

"Things weren't all that bad when we first started screwin' around. When no one knew what was goin' on. We could go back to that."

Catherine snorted. "Yeah, that's not gonna happen."

She started to get up, but Jimmy pushed her back down.

"He treatin' you better than I did?"

"You have no bloody self-awareness, do you?" she genuinely asked. "You slashed me so badly, I needed sutures. You tried to drown me in the bathtub and you punched me square in the goddamn face. Not to mention all the times you've grabbed me by the hair and shoved me against walls because I said something that upset you. The worst Darragh has done is yell at me and that happened two years ago when we argued whether or not to hit an army convoy. I hate to be the one who breaks this news to you, but yes, he treats me better."

He stared at her blankly, as if trying to remember doing any of those things to her. Still jaded from what he said earlier, Catherine didn't wait for him to reply before hitting him with something else. "And for the record, I'm nothing like you. I am a decent person."

It filled with her boiling anger when he started laughing. He was fucking laughing at her.

"Now who's the one lacking self-awareness? Don't get all self-righteous on me now, kid. You think it's wrong that I knocked ya around a few times when you got mouthy and disobeyed me, and maybe it was. But don't you fuckin' dare claim to be high and mighty after you let me slip two fingers inside your cunt, while the man you supposedly love was workin' his arse off to put food on the goddamn table and keep a roof over your ungrateful head."

Catherine opened her mouth to interrupt, but Jimmy shut her down. He stood up and placed his hands on the armrests, caging her.

"You've also signed the death warrants of four men, who have no idea that is the last time they'll kiss their children and wives' goodnight. I've seen the hideous hate that fills you when you plan mortar attacks and ambushes on the peelers and army. Abhorrence and brutality are all you know, and that's what makes you such a grand soldier. You call yourself a revolutionary; a dissident. But at the end of the day, you're a cold-blood killer—a terrorist by trade, in the eyes of the law. Just like the rest of your comrades. And guess what, sweetheart? That makes you exactly like me."

They stared at one another. Jaw's flexing and eyes blistering with pure, raw revulsion.

Cocking her fist back, Catherine punched him in the mouth. Obviously, he had told her something she didn't want to hear. It took him by surprise, but it did little to stun him. She punched like a girl.

He spat blood into her face.

He was done with Catherine and that bastard child of hers, too.

Leaning down, Jimmy calmly whispered, "Get out of my fuckin' sight before I decide to have you kneecapped for breakin' into my safe."


	34. Saoirse

March 2004 - Belfast

Sitting in a pew smack dab in the middle of St. Matt's, Jimmy didn't bother hiding his boredom as Father Ashby gabbed on and on. Over his tenure as a good Catholic, Jimmy had heard the same christening blessings so many times, he could recite them in his sleep. He looked at his watch, groaning, frustrated that he was being forced to sit there when about a dozen other things currently needed to his attention.

Fiona pinched his thigh, roughly whispering, "Quit your fidgeting."

"Why are we even here?" he hissed. "We made it to the first one."

"Because for better or worse, she's _my_ God-daughter and Olivia asked us to come. Filip would be over the moon watching Catherine's babies be baptized."

Jimmy pursed his lips and rubbed his neck to relieve the kink. He bit his tongue hard enough to draw blood so he wouldn't say anything off-putting in the house of the Lord. Looking over to Kerrianne, he rolled his eyes at the joyful smile pulling at her lips. Was he the only one who couldn't care less about the occasion?

Taking a soothing breath, Jimmy tried to focus his attention on what was happening at the altar. He was distracted by the bouncing toddler in Brien's lap, whose giggle echoed throughout the sanctuary every time his uncle tickled his neck.

With the newborn resting peacefully in her arms, Catherine tried to conceal her smile. The sound of Eammon's laughter never failed to fill her heart with joy. She was snapped back to reality as Father Ashby nudged her to hold the baby's head over the basin.

It made Jimmy feel uncomfortable, watching her smile and coo at the newest addition to her family. Having gotten pregnant again just two months after she brought Eamonn home, her four stone weight gain was painfully obvious. She wore the extra weight well and overall looked great for a 25-year-old mother of two. But Jimmy was so utterly repulsed by the sight of Catherine, he wished the council had dismissed her with disgrace and forced her from Northern Ireland after she turned over her beret and Easter Lily pin.

In the two years since Catherine had left the IRA, she and Darragh moved to Andersontown and not a single word had been utter between the former lovers. Jimmy preferred it that way in all honesty, and Catherine did too.

Everyone had been shocked by her sudden decision to no longer fight the cause. Relieved that she had made the right decision for her life, no one bothered to ask what the breaking point had been. Though the downright refusal for Catherine and Jimmy to even be in the same room together had sent gossip flying.

"Sean Christopher," Father Ashby announced, as he began pouring water over the baby's head. "I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen."

As expected, the newborn began to cry the moment the cool water touched his head. Darragh looked over Catherine's shoulder, rubbing Sean's soft, chubby cheek with the knuckle of his crooked index finger. Almost instantly, Sean calmed down, soothed by the warm presence of his father.

After drying off his head, Catherine held Sean close to her chest, mesmerized by his big, blue-gray eyes. With his full lips, button nose, and thick black hair, Sean was the perfect combination of Darragh and Catherine.

It had been a different sense of euphoria that swelled Darragh the moment Sean had been placed into his arms for the first time. He loved and adored Eamonn with his entire heart, but now that he had Sean, he never knew it was possible to love another human as much as he loved _his _son.

* * *

After the service, everyone gathered outside of St. Matt's for their chance to gush over the new baby. Jimmy stood off to the side smoking a cigarette as Catherine passed Sean into Fiona's arms. Feeling rather territorial, Darragh carefully watched every move anyone made with him.

Watching Eamonn reach out to be held by Darragh should have sparked the same protective fire in Jimmy. But he felt nothing towards the boy as those smalls arms tightly wrapped around Darragh's neck. As Eamonn bounced and slapped his tiny hands against Darragh's cheek, he wasn't even fazed as he kept on trucking through his conversation with Patrick.

Fourteen months after his birth, this was only the second time Jimmy had seen his son. The day Eamonn was born, Catherine cried the fattest tears of utter happiness when she saw his features were O'Toole. Ivory skin, piercing green eyes, and a headful of strawberry blond hair, he was nearly a carbon copy of Patrick and Liam. Not a trace of his father to be found.

"So what the plan? Are youse really gonna make us drive to Andytown?" Brien complained.

Catherine took a fussing Sean back from Fiona, hugging her and Kerrianne goodbye.

Darragh joined the conversation now the Jimmy and Fiona were gone. "You do realize it's only a ten-minute drive from here, yeah? We still live in Belfast."

"It's south of Milltown…might as well be the Republic." Liam chimed in.

It had been quite some time since Catherine lived on the Falls, and her brothers were still having a hard time adjusting to her not being within walking distance. Seeing how much they were pushing back against the drive to Andersontown, Catherine didn't have the heart to break it to them that she and Darragh were tossing around the idea of setting down in Donegal.

Darragh wrapped his arm around Catherine, deciding to do a little bartering with them. "You make your sister happy and finish celebratin' the baptism of our son, and I promise you all the whiskey, Guinness, and cake your little heart's desire."

Brien and Liam nodded at one another in agreement. The middle O'Toole sibling slapped Darragh on the back. "I knew I liked ya for a reason."

* * *

With the boys sound asleep, Catherine tossed the baby-monitor on the table as she sank into a chair. She wasted no time lighting up a cigarette and grabbed the glass of whiskey Brien had poured for her. For the most part, the party had died down, leaving only the immediate family as stragglers. Her brothers and Darragh were out on the patio with some of her cousins, deep in a conversation about Gaelic football as they drank and smoked. Beside her, Patrick lit his cigarette, affectionately rubbing her back.

"How've you been doin?" he asked.

Patrick couldn't believe the change he had seen in her since she regained her freedom from the IRA. She had gotten a job as a receptionist at a solicitor's office and was thinking of going back to school to obtain her law degree. Even though she was exhausted rearing children who were both under the age of two, everyone could see how much happier she was.

Her relationship with Darragh was strong, though they often butted heads over his continued involvement with the IRA. While she was ready to cut ties to the cause and Belfast for good, he wasn't just quite yet. She never said anything bad about his comrades, but she refused for her home to be used as a stashing place for hot guns or lads on the run.

So, there wasn't anything to complain about. They were all healthy, she and Darragh had steady employment, and most importantly, Jimmy was completely out of her life.

Flicking the ash off her cigarette, Catherine took a sip of her Jameson. "Just tryin' to get Darragh to see he's better off without the Ra. Maybe you could talk to him?"

Patrick warned, "If you push, that'll only make him want it more. It took me over twenty years to leave—when he's ready he'll leave too."

He had found his courage to finally leave the life behind after Catherine bravely did so. His decision was solidified after a mass raid had taken place and several men who Patrick was closely connected to were arrested.

"Aye," she agreed. That was the last thing she wanted. "I'm thinkin' of bringing up the idea of us takin' the boys to Donegal on holiday."

Knowing his daughter, Patrick knew Catherine's intention for a trip to Donegal would be to remind Darragh of the quiet life that awaited them in the Republic. Before Patrick could tell Catherine what was on his mind, a wail crackled over the baby monitor. It was Eamonn.

Stubbing out her cigarette, Catherine excused herself. "Duty calls," she chuckled before jetting up the stairs.

Sitting at the table alone, Patrick finished smoking his cigarette as he listened to Catherine calm Eamonn down. He looked out the kitchen window, his gaze settling on Darragh.

Turning off the monitor, Patrick headed upstairs. In Eamonn's bedroom, he found Catherine attempting to rock the restless boy back to sleep.

"He looks just you." Catherine didn't bother looking up, she already knew was standing in the doorway. She couldn't take her eyes off the little boy who had undoubtedly saved her life.

Closing the door behind him, Patrick then knelt beside Catherine and gently caressed the top of Eamonn's head. "Even if you can't get Darragh to leave, you get these boys as far from Northern Ireland as possible, and never look back."


	35. Pinky Promise

August 2004

Catherine fed Eamonn the last bit of oatmeal before she carried him into the living room. Sean was sleeping in his bouncy chair, thankfully. From the window, she caught a glimpse of sunlight trying to break free from the somber Belfast sky.

"Any news on the funeral?" she asked Darragh.

"Aye," he answered, handing her the newspaper as he made his way into the kitchen. "Made the front page."

Setting Eamonn down to play with his toys, Catherine sat on the sofa with her legs tucked underneath her. She stared blankly at the photos the _Irish Times _ran on the funeral of Eddie Rylie. It was a three photo spread, showing Eddie's wife, Bernadette, and their four children walking closely behind the coffin that was swathed with the Tri-Color. Hundreds of mourners had gathered on the Falls Road to honor the man. Eddie and Bernie had been close friends of Catherine's parents. He had also once belonged to the same IRA unit as Patrick.

Catherine rolled her lower lip between her thumb and index finger as she quickly read the article. Her heart filled with sorrow for Bernie and the children, as she was currently living out Catherine's worst nightmare. When Eddie had opened his front door one Sunday morning to purchase a newspaper and smokes, two masked UFV men shot him dead.

Catherine and Darragh had of course gone to the wake, but they didn't stay long as Jimmy and Fiona had shown up not long after.

Not wanting to be anywhere near Jimmy, Catherine had opted to stay home during the funeral, sending Darragh by himself to pay respects. She didn't catch much trouble from anyone as she had her hands tied with Eamonn, Sean, and Liam's daughter, Erin.

She did feel terrible for having missed the funeral services. She had gone to St. Dominic's with one of Eddie's daughters, and Bernie—a skilled seamstress—had made countless garments for her over the years. In an attempt to make up for it, Catherine decided she'd bring a heaping dish of coddle, and some flowers to the family's home in Ballymurphy.

Darragh came back into the living room holding two mugs of tea. He set one down on the coffee table for her and she thanked him.

"He was a good man. My Da always spoke very fondly of him."

"None better," he agreed.

Darragh had the privilege of working with Eddie several times on operations before he had been sent to Maghaberry. He could feel the stress radiating off Catherine as she read the grim details about the shooting. Thought it had been quite a while since the last time the UFV attacked Darragh on the Shankill, there was always that nagging fear in them both that he would be next.

As the phone rang and he answered, Catherine's stomach dropped. He didn't say anything other than "aye," and "dead on," before hanging up.

"I have to be away now," he said, jumping to his feet.

"Do you know when you'll be back?"

Darragh shook his head.

Even when she was in the IRA, Catherine never asked Darragh questions about his work. Now that she was out, she most definitely didn't ask questions nor could he share information voluntary like he once had.

The separation from that life had Catherine feeling as though they were in two different worlds. They had built their relationship on the foundation of the Republican Army. They could open up to one another and get the heavy weights off their chest. Now, she saw that Darragh was suffering in silence. Unable to turn to the woman he loves when all he needed was for her to reassure him that he was still decent at heart. She did her best to remind him of that, but it did very little when he couldn't speak of what was troubling him exactly.

What upset Catherine most, was that she was sharing her lover with a cause that no longer made sense to her. A cause that could lead them to more trouble and grief than they could ever imagine.

Darragh loved Catherine. He loved her deeply. But he loved Ireland more and vowed to fight the forces of poverty and oppression that would weigh heavy on their children, just as it did on them.

She followed him into the kitchen, an unsmiling expression on her face.

As Darragh opened the back door, he looked over his shoulder and forced out a laugh. "Cheer up, gorgeous. There's no law against you smiling!"

She smiled weakly. "At least not yet, anyway."

* * *

By mid-afternoon, Catherine had the boys strapped into their car-seats and she drove from Andersontown to Ballymurphy. Her first stop was to the Rylie house, where she dropped off food and offered her deepest condolences. Then, she traveled farther north, stopping at Liam and Shauna's, and then finally her parent's.

Catherine figured her mom had been watching out the window for her, because the moment she parked, Olivia came running outside.

As she unbuckled a babbling Eamonn, she couldn't shake the storming anxiety in her gut. The air was thick and heavy, with a strong unease blowing in the wind. Catherine ignored it, chalking it up to nothing more than the heavy presence of PSNI officers and soldiers.

Olivia grabbed Sean's car seat and Catherine didn't fight Eamonn as he begged to be set down. He wobbled a bit on his newfound legs, then darted straight into Patrick's open arms. The proud grandfather wrapped his twin in his arms before sweeping Eamonn off his feet and smothering him with kisses.

Before heading into the house, Patrick kissed Catherine's cheek.

"Is this not the most precious wee boy you've ever seen?" Olivia gushed. Sitting on the floor with Sean, she tickled his tummy. He kicked his legs and squealed, loving every second of attention he was getting from his grandma.

Catherine shook her head, spreading out a blanket and toys for Eamonn. "You only say he's precious because you're not the one up at three in the morning when he's screamin' his wee head off."

Patrick sat Eamonn on the blanket, who wanted nothing to do with the toys Catherine set out for him. Instead, he wandered over to his brother. Olivia melted when Eamonn got down and mimicked her tickles on Sean.

"Enjoy that while ya can." Patrick gestured to the sight of brotherly love. "Before ya know it, they'll be at each other's throat. Like you three hooligans."

"Aye. But we were the only ones who could mess with each other. Remember what Brien and I did to the Murphy boy who was slaggin' Liam?" Catherine went into the kitchen and started the kettle to brew a pot of tea.

Patrick grunted, following her. "How could I forget? I almost beat down the boy's da in the street because he insinuated I was raisin' a brood of criminals like me'self."

"Well, …we're not exactly upstandin' citizens, Da."

Blowing a steady stream of smoke from his nostrils, Patrick curled his finger around his cigarette as he pointed at Catherine. "Youse turned out to be damn good kids. No drug or drinkin' problems. All finished school. Not gonna lie, we were all worried about you there for a minute, but thankfully you pulled your head outta your arse just in time."

"Appreciate the honesty there."

When the kettle began to whistle, Catherine poured the boiling water into the teapot and plopped three bags in. She brought it over to the table, taking a seat. As she poured tea for herself and Patrick, the mood shifted as she brought up the reason for her visit.

"I heard back from the embassy in the United States. They've denied me a visa."

Patrick's heart broke for Catherine. He felt awful for helping her prepare to leave Belfast with the boys behind Darragh's back, but he knew it was in her best interest to be away from the violence.

Darragh had put his foot down, insistent that he wouldn't leave the cause. So that left Catherine no other choice than to contact Chibs in Charming and get the ball rolling for her impending arrival. Though, all of her plans were now on hold.

"Jesus. Did they give you a reason why? You haven't been arrested for anything in two bloody years."

"To them, that doesn't matter. According to MI5, I'm still a suspected terrorist, even though I haven't been involved with the Ra in quite a while. All it took was that one arrest—Liam explained that all of the counter-terror divisions in the States now have my fingerprints and arrest record. Ever since what happened there in 2001, they've cracked down. I'm never gettin' in that country…legally, that is."

Patrick pinched the bridge of his nose. "Have you thought about patching your shite up with Jimmy so maybe he'll get ya a set of forged documents?"

Catherine shook her head. Never in a million years would she go to him for help. Not when he was part of the reason why she wanted to leave. She'd rather have every tooth pulled from her head with pliers than speak to him again.

"I could fight it, but I don't have the money nor do I want Darragh to know. So, I guess my only option would be the Republic. As far south as bloody possible. Limerick, maybe Tralee."

Patrick intended to respond to Catherine but was interrupted.

First, they heard the unmistakable blast followed by the rattle of windows. It startled both Eamonn and Sean. Her eldest son bolted to her, tears of alarm flooding his cheeks. Sweeping him up into her arms, Catherine held his head against her chest and rubbed his back as she walked into the living room.

Olivia cradled Sean, turning on the television, and Patrick headed outside to see the commotion.

Within minutes, the penetrating sirens of the police and fire vehicles came screaming down the road. Standing in the doorway, Catherine nudged Patrick in the side and pointed towards the plume of black smoke rising in the sky.

"Must've happened at the courthouse or Musgrave station. Those are the only things worth targeting in that direction."

"This is bloody madness," Olivia choked. "I thought the days of this shite were over."

Catherine's nose crinkled as the burning scents began wafting through the air. There wasn't a single doubt in her mind that this hadn't been the reason for Darragh's sudden departure earlier in the day. Her stomach was sick, thinking of all the innocents who had been caught in the crossfire.

With the pad of her thumb, Catherine wiped the tears off Eamonn's cheeks. Recounting the bloody days of her childhood, she was certain that this wasn't the kind of life she wanted her boys to experience. She was extremely fortunate enough to have Chibs, who was willing to set her up in a strange and distant land. Though now, her past mistakes were coming back to bite her in the ass.

She kissed Eamonn on the forehead. "I promise I'll get us out of here."

* * *

Stripping from his clothes, Darragh carefully stuffed them into a black garbage bag. One of his recruits was waiting outside the bathroom, where he would take it away to be burned. He didn't want to take the chance of leaving behind any traces of the fertilizer that could have clung to him during transport.

Then he eased into the shower, kicking aside the tub toys left for Eamonn and Sean. Reaching for the bar of soap on the ledge, he methodically began to cleanse himself thoroughly. He shampooed four times, running his fingers through his short black hair.

A small part of him was queasy with angst. He knew Catherine had planned to bring the boys to her parent's house, but he wasn't sure if they ventured anywhere near the river for a walk. On his way back home, he tried calling her to make sure she was safe, and it would go to voicemail. He was kicking himself for not making sure she just stayed home.

Even with his nervousness for Catherine and the boys, that didn't stop Darragh from feeling overall satisfied with how the operation had gone down. There were no deaths or injuries reported so far. Their telephoned warning had given the PSNI just enough time to evacuate the area.

He had started recruiting the young men from Óglaigh na hÉireann to join the True Army and he was impressed with the way they conducted themselves. Darragh wished he could convince Catherine to wear the black beret again—there was no one else he wanted to be his second-in-command. But he couldn't and he was utterly frustrated by the reemergence of her pacifistic bullshit. He thought she had left that all behind in 1996.

Now that her commitment to a unified Ireland was in the wind, Darragh stood firm on his belief that eventually, the peace talks would come to a screeching halt. When that happened, he planned to be in the driver's seat of a new armed, violent republican movement. He was receiving expected resistance from the Irish Kings, who wanted to keep the True Army's operations as low key as possible, but Darragh was more than willing to take his recruits and form their faction.

Shutting off the water, Darragh threw the curtain back and was surprised to see Catherine. She was standing with her arms crossed over her chest and her lower back pressed against the sink. The expression on her face told him that she knew what he did.

"I tried callin' you," he said, reaching for the towel and drying himself off.

"A car bomb at the courthouse." She ignored his original statement. "Do you have any idea what kind of heat this will bring us? You better fuckin' pray we don't get raided tonight and your ass isn't hauled in for questioning. What in God name were you thinking?"

Darragh reached around Catherine for a Q-Tip, cleaning the shell of his ears. "I'm thinking you've been spending _way _too much time with that quack, Gerry Adams."

"That's not funny, Darragh. We have children now; non-violence is the only way we can bring peace to the North." Catherine stepped forward and placed her hands on either side of his face. She wanted to make sure he heard what she had to say next. "You can't be doin' this anymore. This isn't about us; Sean and Eamonn need their da."

Darragh took a heavy sigh. He could tell Eddie Rylie's untimely death had rattled her. For a moment he stopped and thought of the boys. The last thing he ever wanted was to leave them, but he wished Catherine would understand that he fought for them.

Prison had so badly crushed his spirit, there was little in the world that scared him, unlike her.

Pulling her in for a hug, Darragh wrapped his arms tightly around her. He kissed the top of her head, knowing what she needed. "We've got a couple of days off coming up. So, why don't we get out of town for a bit? Say, Donegal?"

"For real this time?" she asked, lifting her head off his chest and eyeing him suspiciously.

The last time they were supposed to go to Donegal, Darragh was forced to cancel at the last minute after one of the men in his unit had been shot by a police officer.

"For real this time." He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose.

Unable to hide her smirk, she held up her pinky finger. "Promise?"

Darragh couldn't help but smile like an idiot. He hooked his pinky finger around hers. "I promise."


	36. Teaghlach

Folding a pair of Darragh's boxers and stuffing them into his duffel, Catherine took a second to enjoy the quiet. Eamonn was down for his nap while Darragh took over Sean's feeding so she could finish packing for Donegal. They were set to leave the following evening after Darragh got off work.

On the nightstand, her phone buzzed. Flipping it open to read the text, Catherine deleted it after committing the message to memory. Though it came from a private number, she knew who had sent it. Glancing at her watch, she didn't have much time to get to the pub in Ardoyne.

Slipping on a pair of shoes, Catherine headed down the hall to Sean's room. When she opened the door, she found Darragh dozing in the rocking chair with Sean sleeping soundly in his arms. Deciding not to disturb her boys, she quietly shut the door and would just leave a note on the table instead.

When she arrived at the pub in north Belfast, Catherine quickly spotted PSNI detective Ian Wright. He was sitting at a high table in the dimly lit corner, nursing a pint of Guinness. As she approached the table, Ian jumped to his feet giving Catherine a warm and welcoming hug. After they sat down, he pushed the glass of red wine he had ordered in front of her.

She thanked him for the wine and took a sip. "You know, I was a wee bit surprised that you wanted to meet here."

They usually met at the high-peak of Black Mountain, which gave way to the most spectacular view of Belfast. She may have no longer been in the IRA, but both Catherine and Ian were well aware of the risk she was taking by potentially being spotted with him in public. Jimmy wouldn't hesitate to pin the label of informer above her head. Then, it wouldn't take long until her naked tortured body, with a black hood over her head, was discovered on some deserted border road.

"Too hot to hike in a suit," he said.

Catherine couldn't blame him for that. The air was heavy with summer humidity, with angry clouds threatening to open up and pour fat raindrops.

When Catherine didn't answer him, Ian spoke again. "Missed you at the Sinn Fein meeting the other night."

"Darragh thinks I'm spending too much time with Gerry." Lifting her glass to her mouth, she was embarrassed to say that. "I may have to step back a little bit."

"Bollacks. You're on the right side of history now. Don't let him make you feel guilty for being diplomatic in the peace process."

"I learned a while ago that some battles are just not worth fighting."

"A united Ireland, done peacefully, is worth fighting for, no?" Ian raised his eyebrows.

Catherine only nodded.

She never had the chance to meet with Ian under the circumstances the Irish Kings had wanted her to. Instead, their paths crossed unsuspectingly at the community center in New Lodge the night the operation to wipe out the Irish People's Liberation Army had taken place.

Instead of following her orders, Catherine handed Shane Carrigan's killing off to another volunteer and opted to attend the Sinn Fein forum. Immediately, Ian had recognized the scared, pregnant girl who was standing alone in the back of the room. After the meeting, he offered to buy her dinner. As they ate in silence, Ian realized she wasn't the same person who he had interrogated at Musgrave.

To get her talking, Ian confided in her about his past. A Strandtown boy with both Irish and English blood, he had always felt more connected to his Celtic heritage. Turned away from the UVF because of his Catholic mother, and ignored by the IRA because he was a Protestant, Sinn Fein was where he always felt welcome.

With her many verbal and physical altercations at the forefront of her mind, it didn't take much convincing from Ian for Catherine to leave behind her paramilitary days.

"_Come on, Catherine. Even you know the violence isn't right. This isn't the life you want—being told what you can and cannot do. I thought you wanted freedom. I won't be the last one to tell you that as long as Jimmy O'Phelan is in charge, True IRA is the furthest thing from freedom." _

Less than twelve hours after Ian said that to her, shock waves ripped through every Republican Army faction as the news of Catherine's resignation spread from County Antrim to County Kerry. The Ra now viewed her as a charlatan and she couldn't care less. She still honored her former comrades, refusing to tell the PSNI, even Ian, the ins-and-outs of the clandestine organization.

Their friendship had grown organically, even though Catherine's guard had been higher than the peace walls. Growing up in a republican stronghold, she was taught to never trust anyone who didn't share her same beliefs of religion and politics.

Desperate to open her mind and heart, Ian quickly showed Catherine that not every one of English blood was the enemy. He helped her piece together some of her unanswered questions about Chibs and her father's pasts without asking for anything in return.

Because of Ian, Catherine had discovered Jimmy lied to her about Chibs being a tout. When she confronted him about it, it became such an explosive exchange that even Darragh and Fiona got involved, defending their respective significant others.

All hell broke loose when Jimmy looked Darragh straight in the eye and admitted to the sexual activity that took place during the trip to Newry. Usually a man of great self-possession, Darragh beat the utter life out of Jimmy in broad daylight, on the corner of Beechfield and Edgar in the Short Strand.

Darragh had left Belfast for three weeks after that. No one knew if he ever planned on coming back and Catherine expected the worst. Confident their relationship was over she had been in the process of boxing her things up when he returned. Catherine was certain it was God's grace that led Darragh to forgive her and she lived every day of her life in penance.

He faced his court-martial head-on and pled guilty to the crime no less than five other IRA men had witnessed him commit from their front windows. He also wanted to be spared a trial, to make sure the details of what happened didn't get out. It didn't matter how upset he was at Catherine, Darragh didn't want her to face anymore embarrassment from her former comrades. Though the court of his peers had ruled to have him demoted from his officer commanding status, he was right back in the position soon after—as if he hadn't been punished at all.

That left Darragh feeling untouchable.

"You hear back from the Embassy yet?" Ian swallowed his last bit of beer then signaled to the waitress for two shots of whiskey.

Catherine rolled her eyes, an attempt to keep from crying. "Aye. Bastards denied me. I'm still a terroristic threat."

"I don't wanna say I told you so, but, I told you so. Have you told your uncle yet?"

"Not yet. He won't take the news well—he wants me outta here more than anyone." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "I told me Da that I'll probably head to Tralee…so fucking sick and tired of this place. I have no idea what to do."

Ian cleared his throat. He waited for the waitress to drop off the shots before speaking again. "There's always one option. Depends on how badly you want out of here." Catherine took a large gulp of her wine. She couldn't be sure if they were on the same page. Once he divulged a little more, she knew they were. "It'll put a huge asterisk on your arrest record and MI5 will pay for you to move wherever—"

"And then I'll have to live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder. You sat in an interrogation room with me for forty-five hours. I'm not a tout."

Reaching over to the empty seat, Ian grabbed an envelope and tossed it on the table. "Maybe that'll help change your mind. Do the right thing for Eamonn and Sean." Without another word, Ian knocked back the whiskey before jumping to his feet. He tossed money on the table and grabbed his suit jacket. "If you wanna talk, you know my number."

* * *

In her car, Catherine sat with her eyes closed and head resting on the headrest. She listened to the rain ferociously hitting the roof. Ian's words played over and over in her mind, telling her to do the right thing for Eamonn and Sean.

She wanted to keep living in the ignorant bliss that Darragh would evade the PSNI for his entire life. He was becoming reckless, which also made her worry about his standing with the Irish Kings. A part of her was having a hard time believing that the car bombing he had been involved in was okayed by the council. To put her mind at ease, she chose to believe what Darragh told her.

A rumble of thunder pulled Catherine from her thoughts. Turning her head to look at the passenger seat, she blankly stared at the envelope. She didn't dare to open it just yet, so she reached for her phone in the cupholder.

Dialing the number, she didn't think of the time difference until after it was already ringing. Considering it was just past six in the morning, she thought about hanging up, but the line picked up before she could.

His voice was rough. It sounded like he had been up for far too long.

"I didn't wake you, did I?" she asked.

She did, but he wasn't about to admit it. Besides, waking up to the sound of that Belfast accent would be the highlight of Happy's day. Half the time he couldn't understand a damn word she was saying, though that didn't change the fact he enjoyed their conversations.

"Nope. Just rolled back into Tacoma a few hours ago. Jax and Clay had me doin' some work in Charming."

He half-lied. He had been in Charming, but he got home late the previous night. Catherine didn't need to know that.

"How's Chibs?"

"Same as always. Gettin' excited to see you, and meet the boys. Got an apartment and job all lined up."

Catherine took a deep choppy breath. The tears skated down her cheeks as she blinked. Over the lump in her throat, she choked out, "I'm not coming."

Across the Atlantic, Happy shot out of bed hearing her admission. "What the hell do you mean you're not coming?"

"They denied my visa, Hap."

"Fuck. Did not see that coming at all. Have you told Chibs?"

"Not yet. He's gonna be devastated. I'm never gettin' off the Emerald Isle."

"Don't say that, kid. We'll figure it out—grease whoever we gotta grease." His bit of optimism brought a small smile to her lips. "SAMBEL keepin' an eye on you?"

When Catherine first reached out to Chibs and Happy about coming to Charming, Happy was left feeling uneasy that Catherine had no one looking out for her. He didn't like how things had ended between her and Jimmy. Though the IRA hadn't turned their back on Catherine, Happy didn't trust them in the slightest. Their loyalty was to Jimmy, not to her. Feeling the same, Chibs had quietly asked Clay to reach out to McGee and ask if they could watch over her.

"Aye. Appreciate ya settin' that up for me." Being in Andersontown now, she didn't their assistance often as she rarely visited east Belfast anymore.

There was a long pause before he spoke again. "Keep your head up, alright? We'll get it figured out. It's a bump in the road, not the end of the world. Everything will work out how it's supposed to."

Hanging up the phone with Happy, Catherine felt slightly better. She needed reassurance. Tossing the phone back into the cup holder, Catherine picked up the envelope. Freeing the prong from the eyelet, Catherine pulled out the stack of papers inside.

"Darragh, you fuckin' eejit," she said, looking at the first grainy photo.

It had been taken at Eddie Rylie's funeral only a few days ago. He was dressed in his full camouflage fatigues, pulling a balaclava over his head. The photo had been snapped just in time to get him with his face uncovered.

The next one was another of him in fatigues. But instead of the balaclava, a dark green scarf covered his nose and mouth, aviators shielded his eyes, and the beret sat snugly on his head. The Easter Lily pin in the center of his beret, and by the fact, he was holding the Tri-Color while in formation with other men, told Catherine it was an Easter Rising commemoration.

Her heart dropped into her stomach when she flipped to the next one. At the same commemoration, dressed in the same uniform, with the same scarf, sunglasses, and beret, was Catherine.

She was standing at attention—feet at forty-five degrees, her chest out and curled fist tracing the seam of her trousers—behind Darragh. She was identifiable by that goddamn scar that went from her hairline to eyebrow and her copper French-braided pigtails.

There was another one of the two of them in uniform when they attended the funeral of a veteran IRA volunteer.

Then, there was them in the park with Eamonn, then eventually of them with Eamonn and Sean.

It wasn't just Darragh they were coming after. The PSNI still wanted her, too.

But that quickly became the least of Catherine's concerns, when she saw the final piece of paper.

* * *

At home, Catherine found Darragh asleep on the couch. She turned off the television and took a seat on the coffee table. For a moment she watched him sleep, wondering how she wanted to go about discussing the new information she learned.

After what happened with Jimmy, Catherine knew she didn't have the right to be upset with him. What mattered to her was that he had remained faithful. But even if he hasn't, she'd have no choice but to forgive him as he had forgiven her. What upset her, was that he hadn't been honest. Every dirty and gross detail of her past, Darragh knew. She had nothing to hide. It made her feel insignificant that he had hidden this from her.

Did Liam know? she wondered. And if he did, Catherine's next stop would be to his house to deliver the next ass chewing.

As she stared at Darragh, Catherine thought about gently waking him up, killing him with kindness for the rest of the night and then surprising him with the atomic bomb right before bed. But she was far too angry at him to do that. She needed to hear his explanation and she needed to hear it now.

Reaching over, Catherine ran her fingers through his soft hair. He stirred, repositioning the throw pillow he was holding against his chest. She couldn't deny how unbelievably cute he looked as he was fast asleep. Too bad it wouldn't last long.

Lowering her hand down, Catherine covered Darragh's nose and mouth with her hand. It took less than three seconds for his eyes to pop open. He thrashed slightly from the surprise of having his air supply cut off.

"Whose Amber?" she asked, removing her hand from his face.

In his disoriented state, Darragh couldn't comprehend what he was being asked. Unsatisfied, Catherine twisted his nipple, asking again. She refused to let go until he answered her.

"She's my bloody wife!"

The pain of having his nipple nearly twisted off had brought Darragh to the floor with Catherine.

He looked at her with shame in his eyes. The blank expression on her face had him worried. She knew the truth, but that didn't stop it from hurting any less when the words spilled from his mouth.

The man she loved belonged to another woman. Catherine wanted to kick her ass for falling into this situation for a second time.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. "How long?"

"Don't ask questions you don't wanna know the answer to." Heeding his warning, Catherine repeated herself. He answered honestly, "Twelve years in September."

Catherine buried her face in her hands. She felt like the biggest idiot in the world. Twelve years ago, she was thirteen and he was eighteen. Her heart broke even more when she realized he had been hitched for three years already when they shared their first passion-filled night.

"And you never thought to tell me? You didn't think this would eventually come up? Is this why you never brought up the idea of marriage with me? Why…why didn't you fucking tell me?"

Darragh understood her confusion and arsenal of questions she had. He gathered her face in his hands, unsure of where to start.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you. This has got to be killing you, but I swear I haven't seen or heard from her in seven years. I didn't tell you because it wouldn't have done you any good to know when we first met and I never imagined falling so fucking in love with you. I never wanted to hurt you and the longer I waited, the harder it became to come clean."

"Well, do you still love her?"

"Fuck no! I was an eighteen-year-old halfwit who was thinkin' with his cock. Knocked her up after seeing each other for like a month." He paused, swallowing hard. "Anyway, she had a difficult pregnancy and the baby was stillborn. We still tried to give the marriage a shot, but…here we are."

It suddenly hit Catherine that she knew nothing about Darragh's past. There was so much he would rather bury because it tore him to shreds to think about. He was the type of person who hated dwelling and looked forward to better days.

Catherine was stunned. How was she supposed to respond to that? She kissed his wrist and watched him as he stared at Sean sleeping in his bouncy chair. Catherine would never understand how much Sean meant to Darragh. She also now understood why Darragh had been so insistent on being closely involved during both of her pregnancies. And why he had been a nervous wreck during both deliveries.

Internally, she was screaming at the top of her lungs. After losing one child so suddenly, Catherine felt it would make her a monster to rip the boys from him just because she disagreed with his lifestyle.

Neither Olivia nor Fiona agreed with the life their men led. But, they stayed by their side because that's what the women of IRA men do. Through every raid, arrest, and prison term, Olivia never even thought of leaving Patrick.

"After we buried the wee girl, we came to Belfast for a change. Joined the Ra because I couldn't find a job. She hated it. When I went to Maghaberry, she took off, Dublin I think. You stuck by me the entire time—through the trial and my sentence. You were put in my life for a reason."

His words crushed her.

"How come youse never divorced?"

Darragh sinisterly laughed. "Too fuckin' broke for that shite. I fucked myself over because now I can't make an honest woman of the one I love."

_Everything will work out how it's supposed to, _she heard Happy say.

In a split second, Catherine had a decision to make.

Removing Darragh's hands from her face, she stood and headed to Eamonn's room.

When she pushed the door open, she found him playing quietly in his crib. His right cheek was reddened from having it pressed to the mattress during his nap. He lit up at the sight at of his mother, reaching to be picked up. Resting Eamonn on her hip, Catherine reached under the mattress in his crib. After snatching the battered envelope, she headed downstairs.

Tossing in on the coffee table, Darragh picked it up. When he looked inside, his jaw nearly fell to the floor.

It was the money she had planned to use get her and the boys set up in California.

Before he could ask, Catherine answered his question. "Nearly thirty-thousand. That's everything I earned running guns with Jimmy. I saved it in case I ever had to get outta Belfast. You can use it to cover the cost of a divorce." Then she headed to her purse and grabbed the photos Ian had given her. "We use the rest to hire a damn good solicitor because they're closing in on us."

Once he flipped through the photos, Darragh tossed them on the table along with the money. He scrubbed his hands along his face. It was one thing if he went back to prison, but he couldn't bear the thought of Catherine ending up at Hydebank and the boys growing up without either of them.

Darragh got off the couch and picked Sean up from his bouncy chair. He couldn't help but mirror the jubilant smile that pulled at his son's lips. Without looking up at Catherine, he said, "Make sure you pack that money. When we leave for Donegal tomorrow, we're not coming back to Belfast."

* * *

**A/N: **I want to thank all of my readers who have stuck with the story thus far, and patiently awaiting for SAMCRO to become the main focus of the story. I promise it's coming, very, very soon. I have the next couple chapters written, and unfortunately for her to reunite with Chibs and Happy again, her life has to completely fall apart. Also, before getting frustrated with Catherine, just know that she will redeem herself once I begin hitting plot points from the show!


	37. Go To Sleep, My Weary Provo

Mid-morning, Catherine was in the middle of making breakfast for Eamonn. Darragh had already left for work, promising he would home no later than three in the afternoon. After seeing the photos Catherine procured, even he was anxious to get out of dodge.

A heavy fist was pounding on the front door, but with a screaming eight-month-old in her arms, it was hard for her to hear.

After the second round of knocking came echoing into the kitchen, Catherine tried her best to settle Sean as she walked through the living room to get to the front door.

Pulling it open, Catherine squinted her sore eyes as they were pelted with bright sunlight. They adjusted and she was confused to see Donny standing in front of her. He wasn't alone; a boy no older than seventeen stood behind him.

"What are ya doin' here, Donny?"

Donny wasted no time in pushing his way into the house. His rushed and overwhelmed demeanor had Catherine feeling anxious. She could tell he was trying to keep his cool, but there was just too much on his mind to allow him to think straight.

She knew something serious was going on. Never once had Donny shown up announced to her home.

Bouncing Sean in her arms, she rubbed small circles on his back. Her insides began to flutter as Donny ignored her, first instructing the boy to make sure all the windows and back door were locked.

Easing Catherine down on the sofa, Donny sat beside her. He took a breath for the first time in almost five hours.

"Will you please tell me what is goin' on?" she pleaded.

"Simon Townsend was shot and killed early this morning."

Sinking back into the sofa, Catherine crossed herself. "It was one of us, yeah?"

That was the only reasonable explanation as to why Donny and the young lad were there. Instead of verbally answering her obvious question, Donny sheepishly nodded.

Simon Townsend was the chief of staff for the Ulster Volunteer Force.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Who, and most importantly, bloody why?"

"A young fella from Armagh, who isn't too familiar with how things are run up here in Belfast, went into the Great Eastern and started spoutin' nonsense. He didn't know who Townsend was when he took the shot."

With Sean settled, she set in in the playpen and then lit a cigarette. "They'll want retaliation. And you know exactly who they'll go for."

"I do know," he puffed. "That's why Jimmy wants a lad with you here at all times. He also doesn't you to leave under any circumstance."

"I don't give a fuck what Jimmy wants." Catherine raised her voice. "All I care about is that youse sorry sacks of shite find Darragh before the fuckin' UVF does. He's at the top of their list. They won't hesitate to put a hollow point between his eyes."

Donny pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. Everyone knew Catherine was going to react this way when told to follow orders given by Jimmy.

"Listen, we all know youse hate each other. But please understand that it's not being done out of malice, Catherine. It's a bloody mess right now—tryin' to make sure all the officers are accounted for, and the brigade is underground. We're not sure if the UVF thinks you're in still in the Ra. If they do, that makes you a fair target, too."

Taking a couple of deep breaths, Catherine looked over to the lad who was tasked with staying with her. There was no way he could be a sworn-in volunteer, and by the looks of him, if anything were to happen he'd be useless. Nevertheless, she zipped her lip on the issue. Even though she couldn't stand Jimmy, it was never a good idea to find oneself on the outs with the army.

"Have you heard from Darragh? What about Liam and my Da?"

"Aye," he lied. He didn't have it in him to tell her that one of those men had fallen out of contact and they were in a rush to locate him. With two babies to care for, stressing her out was the last thing anyone wanted to do. "I'll swing by later to fill you in."

Catherine nodded, and Donny headed out. Running her hands through her hair, she looked over to the boy awkwardly standing in the archway between the kitchen and living room. She didn't want to seem rude or add fuel to the rumor of her hellcat attitude.

"I'm sorry, Donny didn't tell me your name."

He swallowed hard, somewhat intimidated to be in the presence of the woman who once had a reputation for once being a brilliant foot soldier. "Jack Coughlin, Miss. O'Toole."

"Pleasure to meet you, Jack. But please, call me Catherine."

Stuttering, Jack apologized for having called her by the wrong name. She assured him it was fine and found his nervousness rather comical. It reminded her that she had been just as nervous the first time she met the men from Crossmaglen.

Since she had been in the middle of making breakfast for Eamonn, she offered Jack some eggs and leftover potato bread. He kindly accepted her offer and followed Catherine into the kitchen. As he sat at the table, Eamonn eyed the boy suspiciously.

Catherine shook her head at her son's seriousness. Even though there was no blood relation between them, Eamonn's highbrow demeanor reminded her so much of Darragh when they had first met. Placing the bowl of oatmeal on the tray of his highchair, she ruffled his hair and kissed his cheek.

"No reason to be gloomy today, little man. We're headed to Donegal tonight!"

As she grabbed the carton of eggs from the refrigerator, Catherine also plucked the cordless phone out of the receiver. Cracking two eggs into a sizzling butter bath, she dialed Darragh's number.

It went to voicemail.

Hanging up, Catherine told herself to relax. This wasn't the first time he's failed to answer his phone. She dialed again, this time it went straight to voicemail. If he were in a meeting with the Irish Kings or Jimmy, it would make sense that he turned his phone off.

She refused to get stressed over it. Darragh was getting them out of Belfast for good. She only had a bright future to look forward to. No way would she allow the UVF to ruin these plans. If anything, their thirst for blood only solidified the decision.

Focusing on getting Jack his eggs and potato bread, Catherine then excused herself into the living room. Pacing, she called her sister-in-law, Shauna.

"Have ya heard from Liam at all?" Catherine asked the moment Shauna picked up.

"Oh, Catherine. I was just about to call you." She sounded frazzled. "Haven't heard from Liam. I don't know who these Armagh lads think they are…just waltzin' into Belfast and tearin' the city apart. Have they no idea how hard we've all been workin' to keep the peace?"

"Not a single clue. Hopefully, the fella is properly dealt with. None of our boys go down there and start shite unprovoked. If they're gonna be up here, they need to know what pubs to keep their mouths shut in."

"Aye. You hear from Darragh?"

"Not yet. It's makin' me a wee bit nervous. You know how the UVF can be."

Shauna paused. "Our men'll be fine. Kiss those sweet boys for me, yeah?"

Catherine promised she would give the boys a kiss for their aunt. Ending the call, she tossed the phone on the sofa.

Placing her hands on her hips, Catherine whispered, "Please God, please let him be okay."

* * *

Late in the evening, Patrick, Liam, and Donny entered the house to find Catherine sitting on the sofa. Her feet were propped up on the edge of the coffee table. She had a cup of tea in one hand and a book in the other, too afraid to turn on the television. The boys were down for the night and she had sent Jack out to the store to buy her another pack of cigarettes. She had smoked heavily throughout the day, still unable to get a hold of Darragh.

Their bags were all packed, sitting on their bed ready to go.

Hearing the heavy steps on the hardwood floor, she closed the book, setting it down with her mug.

She got up quickly, smoothing out the wrinkles on her shirt. A smile of relief ghosted her lips, pleased to see her father and brother alive and well.

Except, that smile vanished when she realized who was missing and saw Jimmy sneak in the door behind the three.

Their sorrowful expressions told Catherine what she had felt in her gut all day. Her world suddenly stopped spinning and she fell on her face.

When her knees buckled and she used the arm of the sofa to keep from falling, Patrick dashed to Catherine, easing her to sit down. She began to cry hysterically and he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Snuggling her face into his chest, Catherine's fingers gripped the collar of his shirt.

"No! No! No!" she sobbed bitterly.

Taking off his jacket, Jimmy lit a cigarette and headed into the kitchen where he poured himself a glass of scotch. It had been over two years since he last spoke to her, but he couldn't take his eyes off of Catherine as she struggled to regain her composure.

He wasn't sure how to feel. Nothing would ever be the same between them. But when he blinked, Jimmy didn't see a twenty-five-year-old Catherine. In an instant, she was twelve, crying in the courtroom after Patrick had been sentenced to four years in prison. When he came back to, it didn't matter how Jimmy felt about her. Catherine was hurting; mourning Darragh and that was enough to fill him with anger that she now had to experience the pain of burying a loved one who had been slain by the enemy.

Settling into the armchair across from the sofa, he polished off the three fingers of scotch in one go.

For the sake of the situation, they both needed to put the past aside just for a moment.

Liam had taken a seat beside his sister, wiping his tears away at the wrenching sounds of her grief. He gently rubbed her back, longing for nothing more than to go home, so he could hug and kiss his wife and daughter.

"They nabbed him in the morning as he was leaving St. Peter's. Three blokes threw him into a car and then drove to the Shankill," Jimmy said.

Catherine lifted her face from Patrick's chest. Her eyes were bloated and red when she looked at Jimmy. "Anyone claim responsibility for it?"

"UVF." He crushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the table. "They've released a statement."

"How bad was it?"

Jimmy dropped his head and closed his eyes. The image of Darragh's beaten and mutilated body was seared into his memory. There was no way he could tell her the truth, but he also respected her enough not to sugar-coat it. He kept it vague. "Awful. His body was found in an ally. They slashed his throat from ear to ear—nearly decapitated him."

With a shaky hand, Catherine wiped the freshly fallen tears. A chill spread throughout her body and she began to tremble. "What else did those animals do to him?"

"Nothing else that you need to know of."

"It's a fucking nightmare, Da!" Catherine wrapped her arms around Patrick's neck and buried her face into his chest. "A fucking nightmare!"

* * *

Although Darragh had managed to avoid controversy for most of his life, it stirred emotion when the IRA issued a statement to recognize his unwavering service and sacrifice for the cause, and that their fallen comrade would receive a full republican funeral.

Jimmy had made time to stop by the house to discuss the arrangements for Darragh's burial. Catherine poured herself a cup of tea and sat in the living room as she waited for him to arrive. Patrick and Olivia had taken the boys for the night, to give Catherine time to grieve on her own.

After she had crawled into their bed, Catherine cried for most of the night as she clenched Darragh's pillow tightly against her. It was nearly four by the time she managed to even get some sleep.

When Catherine awoke that morning, she hadn't been feeling the anger or sorrow she been expecting. Instead, she was numb, with a gnawing void that no one would ever be able to replace. She was broken for Eamonn and Sean, and how they'd never know their father's kind heart and gentle soul.

It was only ten o'clock in the morning when Jimmy arrived. He tried to get Catherine to eat but she refused. Understandably, she didn't have an appetite. The only reason she remained as composed as she was, was because all emotion had been utterly drained from her.

As they sat at the table, he reluctantly told Catherine the details he had spared her from last night, when she asked why an open casket wake wasn't an option.

"They took his eyes and his rosary beads were resting in the sockets."

Catherine felt sick to her stomach. "Jesus. Those orange bastards. We were gettin' outta here last night…headed to Donegal and never comin' back." She covered her mouth as a hard wave heartbreak crashed into her. She couldn't understand why such a cruel thing had happened to someone like Darragh. Her voice was pained. "What am I to tell the boys when they start askin' about their da?"

Jimmy had such little connection to Eamonn, it didn't bother him in the slightest that she referred to Darragh as being the father of both the boys.

"You tell them the truth. It'll only hurt them in the long run if you try to shield them from reality."

"They deserve so much better than Belfast. Than this never-ending violence that destroys families."

Jimmy dropped his cigarette in the ashtray. He was empathetic to Catherine's pain, but he also thought she was misplacing her feelings. "Don't say that. This is your home, Catherine, and those are Belfast boys."

Picking up Jimmy's cigarette, Catherine took a long drag. She held the smoke until her chest burned, putting Jimmy's words into perspective. As silly as it sounded, she didn't want Eamonn and Sean to have any other accent than the Belfast brogue she spoke with. She wanted them tightly connected to their Irish roots. If she was going to be staying put, for the time being, she wanted to make sure life would be as calm as possible.

"There's to be no retaliation for Darragh. Am I clear? Enough is enough—it ends with him."

Jimmy nodded his head. "Leadership across the Ra has already made it clear there won't be a counterattack. As far as we know, the loyalists aren't looking for a fight either. I can promise you the bastard who started this shitstorm will be dealt with."

Knowing exactly what Jimmy meant by that, Catherine crossed herself. Another young life would be ended as the result of a half-witted decision.

Stubbing the cigarette out, she stood. "Thank you for helping me with the arrangements. I have to meet with the people from the funeral home and then see Father Ashby."

She turned and started walking into the living room.

Darragh's sudden demise had Jimmy thinking of his own. He had a list of enemies as long as his arm. What was stopping any of them from grabbing him as he came out of church or from shooting him as he walked to the corner store for a newspaper and smokes?

He was looking at Catherine through a new set of lenses. In the blink of an eye, she had been made a single mother. Eamonn and Sean were without their father because of someone else's uncalculated act. Darragh had been well respected and died fearlessly. What Catherine didn't understand yet was that she had the Republican Army behind her. They took care of their own. Their support for her would forever be unyielding—including Jimmy's.

"Catherine Mary, I'm so sorry."

Hearing Jimmy's firm and melancholy words stopped Catherine in her tracks. She backtracked into the archway of the kitchen and stared at him. There was a silent understanding that their relationship would never be the same, but that didn't mean they couldn't be civil in the face of adversity. She could accept his help, but she couldn't fall back to him. Not when she had two boys who now solely depended on her.

* * *

Not wanting to bring attention to her home in Andersontown, Patrick and Olivia hosted Darragh's wake. Patrick had gone with Catherine to drop Eamonn and Sean off with Brien's girlfriend, who offered to babysit.

He parked the car and opened the door for her.

Seeing the line of mourners already stretching for several streets brought Catherine to tears. She hadn't been expecting much of a turnout as support for the cause had died down tremendously. What she failed to comprehend was the sheer number of lives Darragh had touched through his selfless acts. Many of them weren't there to pay respects to an IRA man, they were there to pay respects to a great one.

Dabbing her eyes with fresh tissue, Catherine graciously accepted Patrick's hand as he escorted her to the rear entrance of the house. John Sullivan, a Sinn Fein steward, opened the door and ushered them in. Walking straight through the kitchen and into the living room, Catherine could barely hold herself together.

The closed casket rested in front of the draped window. Perched on top was a framed photo of Darragh.

Two uniformed and masked men stood guard beside it.

Fiona was sitting with Kerrianne on the sofa adjacent to the casket, while Jimmy stood off to the side engaged in a hushed, deep conversation with other volunteers. All chatter faded into silence as they took notice to Catherine approaching. Urging Kerrianne up, Fiona whispered to her daughter to give Catherine a moment alone. Everyone retreated to the back of the room but still kept a close eye on the grieving woman.

Catherine rubbed her hand back and forth against the glossed wood. She held the Kleenex below her nose as her breathing started to quicken. Never had Catherine felt so broken, so devastated.

In a house full of people, she felt entirely alone without Darragh by her side.

She never imagined a single person could have such an impact on her life. Darragh had made her feel appreciated and desired. He cherished every moment they were together and never let Catherine forget her worth. Because of him, she sought to be a better woman, a doting wife, and mother.

Even though he was gone, Catherine knew the only way she could honor Darragh's life and sacrifice, would be to live her life as wholeheartedly and gallant as he lived his.

"I miss you so much," she choked.

Her breathing came in sharp waves, searing tears of anguish flowing down her cheeks. Once those first tears broke free, the rest followed in an unbroken stream. She rested both hands on the casket, her knees almost giving out as her piercing mewl penetrated everyone's soul.

Patrick and Olivia dried their eyes, feeling wholly powerless in making their daughter feel whole again. They wished they could take her pain away, as it was almost unbearable for them to watch her crumble.

In the hours and days that followed Darragh's death, Patrick had never been so proud of Catherine for her strength. She held herself together as they planned every last detail of the services, and she stood firm on her plea for there to be no acts of senseless violence against any member of the UVF or UDA.

It was painful for Jimmy to see her like that. This was the first he had ever heard such a wail from her and he understood all too well as to how deep her suffering ran.

He looked around at the crowd of people who were shamelessly staring at her like a caged animal. It made his blood boil no one—not even her mother, father, or brothers—stepped forth to comfort her. Before anyone else, he moved towards Catherine, embracing her. All he could do was let the flood of her tears soak through his black shirt. Jimmy could feel her fists clenching his suit jacket as she struggled in deciding whether to be angry or just give up all hope.

Against his chest, Catherine screamed, suffocating, no longer attempting to regain control of her dignity.

Taking a step forward, Patrick felt someone grab hold of his shoulder. He turned around to face the person who was preventing him from consoling his daughter. The seething expression on his face softened when he saw it was Liam.

Glumly, he advised, "Just leave her be, Da."

Everyone, even Fiona, could see that the way Catherine latched on to Jimmy was far from the intimacy of lovers. It was the same way she had leaned on him for emotional support during the years Patrick had been in prison. For some reason, seeing that still made Fiona uncomfortable.

Jimmy caressed the back of her head, bringing peace to the war within her mind. Eventually, she calmed, and he wiped her cheeks. He cradled her warm face between his hands, bringing his lips to her forehead for a gentle kiss. He didn't care that a dozen pairs of eyes were glued to them.

Catherine licked her lips, tasting the lingering saltiness. "Promise you won't leave me side?"

Despite everything, Jimmy was the personification of the courage she needed when she couldn't find her own.

"I'll be wherever you need me to be."

For the first time in days, Catherine weakly smiled. She slipped past one of the masked, uniformed men standing beside the casket, and went to the window. Slightly pulling back to the curtain, she was amazed to see the mourners still gathering under the streetlamps. She saw the guys from SAMBEL, even Maureen and Trinity Ashby. Many of them were clenching their rosary beads.

When she heard the back door open, Catherine let the curtain slip closed and she ventured to see who had arrived. It was Gerry Adams, accompanied by Pat Doherty who was the deputy leader of Sinn Fein. Patrick led the men into the living room where they expressed their condolences to Catherine. She was grateful Adams had taken the time to pay his respects to Darragh.

Catherine rested her back against the wall and she watched the former Provisional IRA chief of staff make way to the casket. He crossed himself and bowed his head in silent prayer. She wondered just how many wakes and funerals he had been to.

After only a few moments there, Gerry said his goodbyes to Catherine, assuring her he would be back in the morning for the funeral.

Once Adams and Doherty left, the front door was opened. Over six hours, nearly a thousand people from all across Northern Ireland and Donegal treaded past his coffin.

As Catherine received hugs, kisses, and handshakes of sympathy, she quickly realized that many of the people who strolled through had zero ties to the Republican Army. She spotted an abundance of looks of apprehension when they were greeted by several fully uniformed IRA men. Thankfully the militaristic ambiance didn't spark conflict.

Darragh had kept his past and membership so tightly locked away that no ordinary citizen would even suspect him as being the officer commanding for Belfast's most elite unit. In a way, Catherine felt honored that she had been able to to a part of Darragh's true life.

Just after midnight, the last group of mourners left. Fiona had taken Kerrianne home, and Olivia was in the kitchen sipping brandy, while Patrick nursed a Coke.

Several of his comrades would remain at the house, taking turns watching guard over Darragh's casket through the night. A few wives of volunteers straightened up the house as Catherine sat for the first time nearly all day. Her feet and calves were achy.

"Brien headed out to bring the boys back here," Jimmy said, sitting beside her.

Catherine looked over at the casket, locking her eyes on Darragh's photo. She'd give her own life to be able to see his storming gray eyes and radiant smile again. She'd kill for the chance to hear his voice, to feel the softness of his lips pressed against her temple. Or be wrapped in the warmth of his adoring embrace. Feeling the tight knot in her throat becoming painfully sore, all she wanted to do was snuggle up with Eamonn and Sean.

She nodded. It was obvious she was still trying to process reality and it was only being made more difficult with the endless stream of people asking her how she was holding up. She needed a few minutes just to be alone with her thoughts and Jimmy came prepared for that.

"Come with me." He patted her knee.

Furrowing her brow, Catherine stood and followed Jimmy out the front door. When he stopped in front of his car, he dug for his keys. She stayed silent as he opened the door and rummaged around inside for a minute, before turning around to face her. He shoved the keys in her hand and held up a CD case. She recognized the yellow cover instantly.

To The Faithful Departed by The Cranberries. It had been the soundtrack to her most angsty years.

"There's a bottle of vodka under the seat."

Taking the CD from his hand, Catherine slipped into the car and shut the door behind her.

Jimmy pulled the pack of cigarettes out from the inside pocket of his jacket and lit up, taking a seat on the curb.

Slipping the key into the ignition and giving it a half-turn, she then grabbed the small plastic bottle of vodka from under the seat. Feeding the CD in the player, she skipped to the third track and maxed out the volume.

With Dolores O'Riordan's voice flowing through her, Catherine took four pulls from the bottle. She knew what was about to happen would be cathartic, but she was ready.

Her heart was ripped from her chest as she sang along. "And in the night, I could be helpless. I could be lonely, sleepin' without you. And in the day, everything's complex. There's nothing simple when I'm not around you…and I miss you when you're gone."

Tears streaming down her cheeks, Catherine allowed herself to feel for the first time since hearing of Darragh's death.

* * *

Sitting on her bed and slipping her feet into a pair of comfortable flats, Catherine was speechless when Jimmy entered her old bedroom. Watching him struggle to secure the button at the wrist of his sleeve, Catherine rose and closed the distance between them. Swatting his hand away, she worked the small plastic button through the slit.

"Are you sure about this?" she inquired. Her voice remained steady. She grabbed Jimmy's older arm and repeated the process.

"Aye." Jimmy kept his eyes forward.

When Catherine finished securing the other button, she straightened out his tie. She was humbled to see Jimmy had decided to dress in the customary outfit for the occasion: white shirt, black trousers, black tie, and armband.

She wondered if she should have opted for the same attire, instead of a simple black dress. Darragh deserved to be honored by all of the Ra. Past and present.

Distracted by the hum of helicopters, she walked to the window and opened the blinds. Both the military and the PSNI were out in full force, dressed in riot gear, ready to pounce at the first sign of trouble. When she looked up, she saw troops lining rooftops.

"They can't even allow us to bury our dead in peace."

Her lashes fluttered and tears ran down her cheeks. Placing his index finger under her chin, he tilted her face up. The tears glistened.

"Do not cry in front of these people," he said sternly.

Catherine knew this would be a test of her faith. She needed all the help she could get to remain composed and heeded Jimmy's words. He was right. She couldn't allow the soldiers and officers to see her in a moment of weakness. All eyes would be on her today and she needed to remain poised, keep her dignity intact.

* * *

Downstairs, Catherine held Eamonn and Sean in her arms as she stood silent in front of the casket. Eamonn could sense the somber energy weighing in the room. He rested his head in the crook of Catherine's neck, unknowingly filling her with warm comfort.

She handed the boys off the Brien and his girlfriend, who was staying at the house to watch the boys during the funeral.

Whether or not she wanted to face reality, this was her final goodbye to Darragh.

"I love you, so much," she whispered. "You will always be the light of my life. Sleep peacefully, my love. I'll see you in the next life."

Catherine kissed the casket.

A soft hand was placed on her shoulder. She turned her head to find it was Patrick, dressed identically to Jimmy. "We're ready, Catherine."

She saw the six uniformed men gathered at the back of the room. They waited for her to give them the okay. She did by slightly nodding her head. Carefully, they unfolded the Tri-Color and swathed it over the casket. Liam handed her Darragh's beret and gloves. She affixed them in the center of the flag.

Acting as pallbearers, the men lifted the casket into position before walking towards the front door. It was opened by a Sinn Fein woman and they all exited the house.

It was a cool, crisp day—plentiful sunshine and a light breeze. PSNI helicopters still hummed overhead. Black flags lined the streets, waving in the wind. Everyone waiting on the Falls Road dabbed their eyes as they watched Catherine walk close behind the casket to the hearse.

Jimmy stood stoic and straight, his eyes never once leaving her.

At the rear of the hearse, the pallbearers stopped and lowered the casket onto a trestle. From the crowd of people, masked men emerged with pistols. Catherine knew they were the members of her former unit, and the ones Darragh commanded until his death.

Three of the men took their position behind the casket and were called to attention—in Irish—by a fourth. They aimed their pistols toward the sky. Three ear-splitting volleys were fired.

In the day's leading up to the funeral, the PSNI had warned the IRA that the tradition of a three-volley salute would not be tolerated. Unwilling to back down from political pressure, the Ra decided the raids and possible arrests were worth doing things their way.

So, when the final volley had been fired, the men quickly disappeared into the sea of people, which closed their path and kept them out of sight from the troops and police officers.

Lifting the casket off the trestle, it was loaded into the hearse. As it slowly pulled away down the Falls Road towards St. Paul's, Catherine briefly looked back to see who was walking behind her. She was flabbergasted by the sheer number of men who brazenly wore their white shirts, black ties, and armbands.

Patrick slung his arm over Catherine's shoulder. "They're all here for you, too. Never forget that."

* * *

Just before eleven, the hearse arrived at St. Paul's. Before the casket was brought into the church, Gerry Adams removed the beret, gloves, and flag, handing them off to a volunteer.

Catherine sat in the first row of pews with Olivia next to her. Jimmy was directly behind her, with Donny in the third row. His second-in-command leaned over the pew to whisper to Jimmy that the PSNI was gearing up to raid houses in both west and east Belfast. He warned that Catherine should be expecting a visit after the burial.

In record time, the church filled. Many more waited outside.

As Father O'Malley ascended to the pulpit to celebrate the requiem, Catherine wondered if she made the right decision to not hold Mass at St. Matt's. Father O'Malley was an old school priest, who stressed the importance of praying for peace and understanding. Now that it had been revealed that Darragh was an IRA man, she was afraid that he would use his sermon to make a political statement.

A slight wave of apprehension crashed over her as Mass began.

"Today, we have gathered to celebrate and honor a man who has taken his place beside the proud Fenian dead. Darragh was not only a man of humility and intellect, but he was a man of the sword, willing to stop at nothing to see his people free."

Taking a sigh of relief, Catherine unclenched her jaw and relaxed against Olivia.

* * *

A lone piper led the procession through the gates of Milltown Cemetery, making their way to the republican plot. The wind whipped through Catherine's hair as she stood at the gravesite with Liam holding hers and Shauna's hand.

When the burial ceremony started, Catherine was presented with the folded Tri-Color, along with Darragh's beret and gloves. Hugging the flag against her chest, she was numb. The shock was still impeding her grasp on reality.

As she watched the casket be lowered into the ground, she kept trying to convince herself that Darragh would be waiting for her at home. That when she crossed the threshold into their warm, welcoming living room, he would jump up excitedly, eager to hear about her day. Then after dinner, they would curl up on the sofa and solve the crossword in the _Irish Times_.

But Catherine knew she couldn't lie to herself. Darragh was gone and he was never coming back. He was gone because a halfwit recruit had killed the leading man of the Ulster Volunteer Force.

Father Ashby led them in reciting the Our Father. Liam delivered a moving homily.

The ceremony ended and Catherine remained at Darragh's gravesite as everyone else dispersed. She reached down and scooped up a handful of dirt. Dropping it gently over the casket, she smiled down to the love of her life one last time.

Liam walked with Catherine to the front gates where her family was waiting. Patrick gathered his daughter in his arms, afraid to let her go.

Resting her cheek on his chest, all she could focus on were the PSNI officers that flooded the Falls Road. They were furious with the volleys of gunfire, the public appearance of uniformed IRA men, and the sizable crowd that developed.

She took particular attention to a scuffle that had broken out between a handful of people about her age, and two soldiers. They pointed their rifles at the frightened mourners, screaming that they "would kill every fucking one" of them.

Catherine pulled away from Patrick. She watched the men and women comply with the orders of the British army.

Looking over to Jimmy, she placed Darragh's beret on her head.

_That's exactly what you'll have to do, _Catherine thought. _Kill every last fucking one of us._

Because as long as only one of them were alive, they'd never be defeated.


	38. No Surrender

**October 2004 **

On a whim, Jimmy twisted the door handle. Much to his surprise and disappointment, it turned and he pushed his way through the door with no issue. He'd be having a talk with her about keeping the doors locked at all times.

He was greeted by the piercing cry of a toddler reverberating throughout the house. The empty kitchen and living room led him to believe it was coming from upstairs. Considering it was after seven, Jimmy figured Catherine was trying to get the boys down for bed.

Rounding banister to hop onto the first step, Jimmy came to a screeching halt. Sitting at the top of the stairs was an extremely defeated Catherine. Her eyes were empty and bloodshot. Black streaks ran down her cheeks from her eyeliner and mascara bleeding.

"Its been like this every night since I brought them back here," she said, sniffling.

Eamonn had fallen into a routine with Darragh. Each night after bath time without fail, Darragh would read to Eamonn before rocking him to sleep. In an attempt to keep life as normal as possible for him, Catherine tried to take Darragh's place. But, being just like his mother, Eamonn lost his mind by having his nightly formula messed with.

Jimmy's heart sank for Catherine. He knew she was doing every in her power to keep the household running smoothly, but there was only so much she could do.

Climbing the stairs, Jimmy stepped around her. She didn't budge. He found Eamonn sitting in the hallway just outside his bedroom. He showed no signs of slowing down his crying anytime soon.

For a moment, Jimmy hesitated unsure about what he should do. The easiest thing would be to turn around and head out, but with Darragh gone, he now felt a push of responsibility to help Catherine care for Eamonn and Sean.

Bending down, Jimmy picked Eamonn up. As he held him, slightly bouncing, there was no magic spark of connection or love between the father and son. As far as Jimmy was concerned, Eamonn was Darragh's. After the night Catherine had broken into his safe and she punched him in the mouth, Jimmy voided himself of any sentiment when it came to his son.

Walking into Eamonn's bedroom and sitting down with him in the rocking chair, Jimmy wasn't doing this because he figured it would be the quickest way back into Catherine's panties. He was doing it because when he looked up the stairs, he saw the little girl he unconditionally adored for over twenty years. Jimmy had promised he would take care of her no matter what happened in his lifetime, and now she needed him more than ever.

For a few minutes, Jimmy rocked with Eamonn, trying to calm him down. Catherine continued to sit on the top step, her head in her hands and just listened. She was drained emotionally and physically. She was starting to question whether or not she was strong enough to care for the boys on her own.

It had been a month and a half since she buried Darragh. Life was nowhere near getting back to normal.

Slowly, Eamonn began to relax. As Jimmy held him and rubbed his back, he rested his head against Jimmy's chest. Memories of doing the same with Catherine when she was only a year or two older, came flooding back to Jimmy. It didn't help that he looked nearly identical to her.

Hearing his whimpers start to die down, Catherine was amazed at how easily Eamonn had conceded to Jimmy. She wondered if on some level Eamonn knew he was in his biological father's arms, rather than with a stranger. Being a shy kid, he hardly let go of either Catherine or Darragh. She was stunned when she heard Jimmy reading from Eamonn's favorite bedtime story.

Standing up, she headed into the bathroom. She took out her contacts, brushed her teeth, and then washed her face. As she uncapped the jar of moisturizer and spread dots of it along her face and neck, Jimmy stood in the doorway.

"He's asleep." His voice was barely above a whisper, afraid that the wrong move would wake either of the boys up.

She put the jar back on the ledge above the sink and began to rub the cream into her skin. "Thank you for doing that. It has been rough getting them back into their routines. I think I stayed at my parent's house for too long."

For the first four weeks after the funeral, Catherine had stayed with Patrick and Olivia. She didn't dare to be back in Andersontown so soon after. For the first handful of days, she struggled tremendously. The ability for her to take care of basic needs had gone out of the window. She didn't shower, didn't eat. Only slept and cried, unable to pull herself out of bed. Then when she finally did, Patrick wished she hadn't, because that began the awful two weeks of her drinking herself into oblivion.

"Don't be too hard on yourself. You were only doing what you thought was best."

"Yeah, because drowning myself in Harp and Tullamore Dew won me mother-of-the-year."

Catherine had a vivid memory of the shameful night that forced her to face reality. After seven hours of being at the pub, she was so drunk it took both Patrick and Jimmy to drag her back to the house. Though not an ounce of her anger was directed towards the organization Darragh had proudly served, the sleeping beast of hatred towards the Union Jack and the people who supported it had reawakened. As Patrick and Jimmy herded a combative Catherine down the Falls Road, she brazenly opened her mouth and belted out a notorious rebel song: _"Glory, glory to old Ireland! Glory, glory to this island. Glory to the memory of the men who fought and died, 'No surrender' is the war cry of the Belfast Brigade!"_

Patrick was more than understanding that Catherine was wallowing deep in grief. He couldn't even begin to imagine the pain she was in, having lost the love of her life. But, as soon as those words had been sung, he snapped. Jimmy didn't intervene as Patrick covered her mouth with his hand to shut her up. When she took a swing at her father and missed, he wrestled her down onto the grimy sidewalk, honestly telling her how ashamed Darragh would be to see her acting so foolishly.

Just over a week later, Catherine had returned to Andersontown with the boys, ready to take on the challenge of being a single mother.

Jimmy remembered how the grief of his brother's death had affected him. He too had crawled into several bottles of whiskey, but he had prowled the streets of loyalist east Belfast looking for fights.

"It could have been a lot worse. How've you been holding up?" He felt a twinge of guilt for not having reached out to her in the last two weeks. Business had called him to Berlin; one of her favorite cities.

Still trying to make sense of what happened, Catherine found herself teetering between a state of raw anger and utter hopelessness. She answered, "I'll survive. Somehow, I always do."

Truth was, between the boys and work, she hadn't been able to stop and take a breath. She was purposely distracting herself so she wouldn't be constantly reminded of Darragh's absence.

"Has Fi fed ya yet?" she asked, flipping off the light and slipping on her glasses.

As she made her way into the hallway, Jimmy caught a glimpse of the shamrock tattoo on the inside of her forearm. The black "J" that was once shaded into the green ink, had been turned in to a "D."

When she smiled softly, Jimmy noticed something was different. Her face smiled, but all life had been drained from those beautiful eyes. He shook his head and lied, "Nope. You got anything?"

"Aye."

Jimmy followed Catherine downstairs to the kitchen. He was pleased to see the house was clean and in order, a sign that she was wasn't letting her domestic responsibilities slip. By her drastic weight loss since he last saw her, Jimmy was peeved by the clear fact she still wasn't eating. As they walked through the living room, he noticed the pillow and folded blanket on the sofa. He made a mental note to ask her about that.

Catherine gestured for him to sit at the table as she made a bee-line right for the fridge. He watched as she pulled out of a container of stew and scooped a decent portion into a saucepan for reheating.

She took a seat across from his and immediately lit a cigarette.

"You not sleepin' upstairs?" Jimmy stole the cigarette from her and smoked it himself.

Not caring that he wasn't fond of her smoking in front of him, Catherine lit up another one. She stayed quiet for a minute as if debating on whether or not to tell him the truth. So many people were already worried about her, she didn't want to add another person to the list. But at this point, Catherine knew lying wouldn't do her any good.

"Haven't been able to crawl into that bed. The sheets, his clothes, all smell like him still. When Filip left, I thought that was the worst pain I'd ever experience. But with Darragh gone, I'm suffocating—emotionally, physically. I'm miserable." Catherine stopped and took a long drag from her cigarette. "It's the cruelest irony that I was ready to leave him and Ireland. Now I can't leave Belfast, because I can't stomach being far from Milltown."

Jimmy was still processing what she said about leaving Ireland. That wasn't what she had told him the day after Darragh had been killed. "I thought youse were going to Donegal?"

"That was only after I was able to convince him to leave _with _me. The PSNI and MI5 still have me under surveillance even though I haven't been active for years."

Catherine let her cigarette burn out in the ashtray as she got up to ladle the hot stew into a bowl for Jimmy.

"Where the hell did you plan on going?" There was far too much that had happened in the years they wasted not speaking to one another.

Catherine placed the bowl in front of Jimmy and tucked her ankle behind her knee as she slid back into the chair. The displeasure he felt towards Chibs wasn't going away anytime soon and she worried it would set him off if she told him. She took a chance.

"Charming. Filip was helping me get everything set up."

The very second those words left Catherine, Jimmy's spoonful of stew only made it halfway to his mouth. He dropped it back into the bowl. Catherine felt the familiar anxiety bubble in her gut as he huffed out an aggravated breath, looking up at the ceiling. Her grasp on the Irish language was nowhere near as fluent as Jimmy's, so when he began to bitterly speak, she had no idea what he was saying.

"I didn't do anything wrong," she quickly defended herself. "I was out of the Ra when I contacted him."

Jimmy knew Catherine was well within her rights to contact Chibs when she did. It wasn't her that he had gripes with. "That's not what I'm mad about, a chuisle. This is between me and him-"

"How can I believe a bloody word you say? Especially after ya lied to me about Filip bein' a tout."

"What happened between me and Filip is none of your goddamn business, like I told ya two years ago. You really wanna start this up again? Because I'm awfully curious to know how you know the peelers still have you on their radar."

She decided to drop it. Anything she said past this point, she was afraid Jimmy would pin her as an informant over her relationship with Ian Wright.

The PSNI detective sent flowers to Catherine as a gesture of condolence but didn't dare to attend the republican funeral.

"Sorry I brought it up."

He took his first bite of stew and pulled out an envelope from the inside pocket of his jacket. He tossed it down on the table in front of her. "Fifteen thousand quid. Wanted to make sure your rent, utilities, and food are covered for the winter."

"I'm not your charity case," she said, sliding the envelope back to him. "I have a full-time job."

Jimmy knew this was how she would react, so he came with a backup plan. "Consider it an advance on your new part-time job then." From the pocket of his trousers, he produced another object. On the table, he placed an unspent rifle cartridge. "You're the only one I trust with the Barrett."

"Absolutely not."

"I saw that look in your eye when you put on Darragh's beret. You may think you're done, but you're not. The only reason ya left in the first place, is because you were angry I pointed out a reality you didn't wanna face."

"You called me a terrorist. A cold-blooded killer." Catherine spoke quietly, blinking back her tears. "I had just killed a gardaí, and as you put it, signed the death warrants of several men. I thought I was a soldier of Ireland."

He didn't realize how much his unfortunate choice of words had affected her. Making her believe that she was anything other than a soldier was never his intention. He thought she had left because she was being her usual bratty self, pissed that he had made her do the work of recruits when she wanted to hang with the big boys. It went deeper than that—he unknowingly forced to her into an existential crisis. He knew just how to remind her of the love she had buried for the cause.

Pushing the stew off to the side, Jimmy lit another smoke. "You are a soldier of Ireland. Do you want the UVF to get away with what they did to Darragh? Or let the peelers get away with how they treated our people during his burial? Your Da was arrested, you had your home ransacked hours after the service. What do ya think should happen with the fella who set off the chain of events that led to this shitstorm?"

Catherine knew Jimmy was manipulating her. Playing her seething hatred for his pleasure. She should have been disgusted with herself for allowing it to work. But all she could think of was how the PSNI and the British army left the UVF alone when they buried Simon Townsend in the same militaristic display. None of them had been raided or arrested. Patrick's three-day detainment still bothered her greatly.

"They all deserve to answer to their maker." Without a word, Jimmy slid a folded slip of paper to her. She picked it up and opened it. The address she recognized as being in the Markets, but it made no sense to her. She asked, "What's this about?"

"We got him. Dessie handed him right over once he resurfaced in south Armagh."

Jimmy watched as the color drained from Catherine's face. Though she had told Jimmy she didn't want any more blood to be shed, this was the news she had been anxiously waiting to hear for the last month and a half. Deep down, she still wanted to see a punishment doled out, feeling as though Darragh deserved his slice of justice.

"This is where he is?"

"Aye. If you're gonna head over, I'd hurry. You know how trigger happy the Casey brothers are."

"Fuck," she groaned in mild frustration. "I can't leave; the boys-"

"I'll watch 'em."

Catherine raised her eyebrows. This was out of character behavior. She was mildly suspicious over why he had been so pleasant to be around. "You sure?"

"I managed with Kerrianne, I think I can handle them for a little bit. Now go before I change my mind."

Jumping up, Catherine dashed out of the kitchen so she could grab her shoes, bag, and a sweatshirt. Jimmy just went back to eating. When she came running back into the kitchen, she was rightfully flustered, only being able to focus on what she was going to say to the man who was the reason Darragh was gone.

After thanking him over and over, and promising she wouldn't be gone long, she bolted out the back door. In his head, Jimmy began counting to see how long it would take for her to come back once she realized she had left the slip of paper with the address on it.

He didn't even get to five before the door swung open. She grabbed the paper and headed out.

* * *

Racing up the stairs of a call house in the Markets, Catherine burst through a bedroom door to find Sean and Michael Casey. They were dressed in all black with bloody latex gloves covering their hands. When the brothers heard the door collide with the wall, they spun around to see a version of Catherine they never knew existed.

She appeared collected. Though her mind was a racing wonderland of violent thoughts and her face wore the expression of chilling animosity. All she wanted to do was rip the man who was tied up in the chair to shreds. Not a single word was uttered as she closed the door behind her.

The room smelled of stale sweat and terror. On the floor, a plastic tarp protected the carpet from bloodstains. It crinkled under Catherine's boots as she walked closer to the hooded man. The windows had been covered to keep prying eyes out and she felt the presence of about a dozen souls. It quickly occurred to her what this otherwise empty room was used for—God only knew how many had lost their lives in the very space.

She had no idea who he was, nor did she care. He blubbered out in pain but all she could hear was Eamonn crying out for Darragh. That was enough for Catherine not to feel an ounce of compassion for the man who had undoubtedly spent the last several hours being subjected to cruel IRA torment.

Without having much of a plan, Catherine tore the black hood off his head. He looked up at her with fear in his eyes, as he knew this would be the last night he would ever spend alive. Globs of blood spilled from his mouth as he had several of his teeth pulled. A Glasgow smile was carved into his cheeks. It was Jimmy's signature—he had already been there.

"Oh, God!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. He began to thrash in the chair, pleading. "Please, please don't anything more! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! I never meant for anyone to be killed!"

The calmness Catherine possessed didn't sit well with either Michael or Sean. They glanced at one another, trying to figure out what her next move would be.

From the back pocket of her jeans, she pulled out a photograph. Kneeling, she held up the photo of Darragh. In one arm, he held a newborn Sean, and in the other arm was Eamonn.

"You didn't just get one of your comrades killed," she began, looking the Armagh man straight in the eye. "Your deliberate and simpleminded actions ripped a father from his sons. I can handle my misery of no longer being with the man I love. What I can't handle, is listening to my eldest boy weep night after night, not understanding why his da isn't there to rock him to sleep. Do you have children?"

Trembling, the fellow IRA man nodded. He couldn't have been any older than she.

"It's not me or the cause ya should be apologizin' to. It should'a been to the wee ones, because you're never gonna see them again," Catherine spat.

"No! Please-"

Not caring to hear any more of his useless pleas, Catherine reached for a bloody rag on the floor and stuffed it into his mouth. Standing, she held out her right hand and slipped the photo back into her pocket. Michael Casey didn't hesitate to place the Glock pistol in her palm.

As Catherine moved the slide back to make sure a round was chambered, she ignored the throaty, muffled cries. Her mind wandered, making her think about whether or not Darragh had pleaded for mercy during his final moments. The idea of him being alone and petrified as the UVF abused him, only made Catherine angrier.

May be Jimmy was right. Maybe she was nothing more than a cold-killer because as she raised the pistol and took her aim, she felt absolutely nothing. As tears began to stream down his blood-crusted cheeks, Catherine remembered what Darragh's mutilated face and body looked like.

With that image still clear as day in her mind, she pulled the trigger.

She only intended to fire three shots; two in the chest and one to the head. But, she lost control and she pulled that trigger until the magazine was empty. Sixteen spent casings were burning through the plastic tarp when she finished. Not all of the rounds had hit, most of them were lodged in the drywall behind him. She was satisfied, nonetheless.

Sean Casey took the empty pistol from her and immediately began wiping it clean of her fingerprints. Stupidly, she hadn't worn gloves.

"Tag the body so they know it was us, then dump him on the Shankill in front of the UVF's C Company mural," she instructed.

To her, there was no greater dishonor than being disposed of in an enemy stronghold after being taken out by ones own.

As she headed out of the bedroom so she could go wash the gunpowder off her hands, she was stopped.

"Catherine," Michael Casey called her name. She turned around the see Sean smiling as he unscrewed the suppressor off the Glock. They said in unison, "Welcome back."


	39. King and Queen

**October 2008 - Falls Road, west Belfast. **

At the sound of the doorbell, Catherine raced down the stairs. In heels and while trying to secure her earrings, she prayed she wouldn't trip.

Just before the bell rang for a second time, she greeted her guest.

"You have your ma's sense of punctuality. Ya know that, right?" joked Catherine.

She let Kerrianne in and much to her surprise, Jimmy followed close behind her cousin.

Kerrianne took the opportunity to lovingly mock her mother. "Well, if you're not ten minutes early, you're late."

Jimmy stayed several steps behind the girls as Catherine led Kerri further into the house. Eamonn and Sean were on the sofa; bathed and in matching pajamas. Their attention glued to 101 Dalmatians as it played on the television. Once upon a time, that had been Catherine's favorite movie and Jimmy was sure he could still recite it from the heart as she had _forced_ him to watch it with her countless times.

When he finally got a decent look at Eamonn, Jimmy nearly fell over he was so stunned. Fiona hadn't been bull-shitting; Eamonn truly did turn into his mini. Besides the red hair and green eyes, the boy was all O'Phelan.

Walking into the kitchen, he caught the tail end of Catherine and Kerrianne's conversation.

"For pizza," Catherine said, pulling thirty quid from her wallet. "They picked out a bunch of movies so they should be occupied for most of the night. Just have 'em in bed by ten. If Brien stops over, they can stay up later. Oh! I almost forgot—I know your ma doesn't want ya watchin' Sex and the City, but I broke and bought the entire series, so chill up in my room and watch it. I shouldn't be any later than midnight."

"Midnight, huh?" Jimmy slid his hands into the pockets of his trousers and rested his back against the wall. He scanned Catherine's outfit—a curve-hugging black dress that stopped just above the knee. Black pumps, diamond studs in her ears. Her hair blown out, eye makeup smoky, and her plump lips were painted a beautiful shade of mauve. He even noticed she was wearing the diamond bracelet he bought her for Christmas eleven years ago. "What's on your agenda tonight?"

"I think our wee Catherine has a date." Kerrianne smiled mischievously. She wasted no time digging into the bag of Tayto crisps that sat on the counter.

"A date?" Jimmy raised his eyebrows at Catherine.

As she tossed her personal and burner phones, ID, cash, and bank card into her clutch, she didn't bother looking up at him. "Jealous?"

He snorted. "Jealous of the fella who has to put up with you all night? Not a fat-fuckin' chance. Don't ya think you're wee overdressed though?"

"You think this is too much?" she asked, running her hands down her hips.

"Don't listen to him. I think you look cracker."

Tucking the clutch under her arm, Catherine purposely held eye contact with Jimmy. "Thank you, Kerri."

She walked out of the kitchen and into the living room to say goodnight to her boys. When she blocked their view of the television, they groaned in protest. As best she could in her tight dress, Catherine bent down to gather her five and four-year-old sons. Eamonn, who was far more the momma's boy, didn't put up much of a fight in wrapping his arms around her neck when Catherine asked for hugs and kisses.

"Will we still be up when you get home?" His question was directed at his mother, but Eamonn eyed Jimmy. Though Jimmy had become more of a steady male-figure in his life, Eamonn still wasn't exactly sure what to make of the man.

Sean had latched on to his uncle Brien in particular, loving the time he spent at the SAMBEL clubhouse around all the Harleys and beautiful woman. Just like his daddy, Sean had a fondness for the ladies.

"No. Sorry, lovey. I'll be here in the morning when you wake up."

Catherine hated keeping the boys on their toes. Now being the third highest-ranking officer in the North Command under Jimmy and Donny, she didn't keep regular hours. Being back in the Ra while rearing the boys on her own had been a difficult transition for not only Catherine but Eamonn and Sean as well. They may have been used to Catherine sometimes leaving for days at a time, but they knew they could count on her when they needed her most.

Despite her mounting responsibilities in the cause, her family came first. Never once did she miss a milestone moment, and she always made sure she was home for dinner and bedtime. Once they were sound asleep in bed, only then would Catherine pick work up again.

"Be good for Kerri, yeah?" Catherine pressed a kiss to Sean's forehead and he immediately began scrubbing the lipstick mark off his skin. "I love you both, so much."

* * *

**Craigavon, Northern Ireland **

Sitting at the bar in the Edenmore Golf and Country Club, Catherine looked at her watch as she ate the olive from her dirty vodka martini. It wasn't like him to be late, but instead of growing worried that something happened, she soaked up the alone time.

Polishing off the rest of her drink, she ordered another one. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, Catherine was startled back to reality when she heard an excited shriek from a woman at one of the tables. A weak smile tugged at the corners of her mouth after she looked over to see a man down on one knee, black ring box in his hands. She coughed and blinked back her tears, feeling genuinely happy for the newly engaged couple.

"Owen." She caught the attention of the bartender. "Send them a bottle of champagne and put it on my tab."

He poured her martini into a fresh glass and nodded. When he placed it in front of her, Catherine drained half of it in one breath.

Four years. It had been that long since she buried Darragh, and the grief was still as fresh as it had been the night she learned of his murder. She chose to keep the heartache locked away, finding it was easier to get through life by ignoring it. While she hardly spoke of Darragh to anyone anymore, not a day went by where she didn't take a moment or two out her day to talk to him. Every morning after dropping the boys off at St. Matthew's for school, she would head over to the church and light a candle for him.

The nagging emptiness in her heart never went away, but Catherine managed to still feel close to Darragh by throwing herself deep into the cause which brought them together in the first place.

Eamonn and Sean were rightfully oblivious to the work their mother did. On some level, she never wanted them to know. That didn't stop her from telling them what a gallant and proud IRA man their daddy had been. Catherine made it her mission to raise her sons to be just as kind and courageous as Darragh.

She was working on instilling them with a strong sense of Irish nationalism but chose to steer Eamonn and Sean clear of the rabbit hole that was the republican movement. Catherine's return and rise in the IRA had been rooted in the overwhelming abhorrence she felt for the UVF and UDA.

Operation Banner was over and the British army no longer patrolled the streets—that was all Catherine dreamt of seeing in her lifetime. Nonetheless, for as long as the UVF or UDA were still around, she'd never leave the Republican army. Her thirst for loyalist paramilitary blood came from a driving need to see requital for Darragh's death. She didn't want Eamonn or Sean to be filled with the same hate that bittered her.

"You're late," she said, taking a sip of her drink.

A large hand plucked the glass from her, tossing back the rest of the vodka and vermouth.

"After seein' how you dressed, I ran home and changed. I thought you said it's just casual drinks?"

"It is." Catherine smiled at Jimmy, as she accepted his hand to help her jump off the barstool. "But a man once told me that if I dress like I have power, people will think I do."

"Sounds like he's a smart fella."

She shrugged. "He can be. Most of the time he's a fuckin' asshole."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "We should get goin'. It's about an hour's drive."

After paying her tab, Catherine grabbed her clutch and began walking towards the door. When she got in front of Jimmy, he nonchalantly smacked her on the ass. All the blood rushed below his belt when he felt it jiggle under his hand.

Looking back over her shoulder, she wore an unamused expression. "He's a goddamn perv, too."

* * *

**Dundalk, Republic of Ireland**

Walking down the street to the Imperial Hotel, Jimmy placed a light hand on the small of Catherine's back. A usual Friday night, the downtown street was buzzing with nightlife, making it perfect to clandestinely discuss business in public. Everyone would be too focused on their drinking and conversations to care about what others were up to.

"You sure you trust these lads?"

"Aye," Catherine tugged on Jimmy's jacket sleeve to stop him. She wanted a smoke before heading into the hotel. "Mickey was Darragh's cousin. Some of the fellas I spoke to from the Real army said he's sound. Albeit, a wee radical."

Jimmy snatched the cigarette from her and took a drag, handing it back. "I'm not lookin' to push Belfast back into 1972, Catherine."

"And neither am I. I agreed to meet with him out of respect for Darragh. He asked specifically for you to be here, too, so I think we at least should hear him out. We've walked out of proposals in the past if we don't like what's being offered, so there's nothing to lose."

As Jimmy watched Catherine work her way up from foot soldier to his third-in-command, he learned to trust her instincts. She had a sixth-sense like he did when it came to decision making. He chalked it up to her sharp attention to detail and she called it the luck of the Irish.

So, if her gut was telling her Mickey was worth the time, then it was all good with him.

Inside the busy bar of the hotel, Catherine quickly spotted Mickey and another young man sitting at a corner table. They seemed a bit nervous; drumming their fingers on the tabletop and looking around at the crowd. It wasn't their scene. As for Catherine and Jimmy, they had traveled to nearly every corner of the world so there wasn't a single place they could be made to feel uncomfortable in.

Their fidgeting ceased and they jumped to their feet the moment the top True army commanders approached the table. Mickey promptly introduced himself to Jimmy. A tall, gangly blond boy, the only attributes Mickey possessed which convinced Jimmy he was any way related to Darragh, was his thick Donegal brogue and a firm handshake. Though he did vaguely remember seeing Mickey at the wake and funeral.

The other man was introduced as Daniel, who was in Mickey's Real army unit in Derry.

Knowing that these two lads more than likely didn't have a penny between the two of them, Jimmy appreciated the fact they wore pressed trousers and a button-down. No doubt the clothes had been borrowed, but what mattered was that Mickey and Daniel made the effort to be taken seriously. Appearance was everything to a man like Jimmy, and it was their effort which made him want to hear what they were eager to discuss.

After pulling out Catherine's chair for her, Jimmy took a seat. He waved down the waitress and ordered a round of Johnnie Walker Blue Label for the table. By his choice of expensive scotch, Catherine could tell he didn't plan on sparing any expense tonight. Considering business had been good to them as of late, and this was possibly a chance for them to recruit Real army boys over to their side, she didn't blame him.

When the drinks arrived, Jimmy did most of the talking. He wanted to get a feel for what they were dealing with. Catherine sat back and drank her scotch, letting Jimmy take the lead. Just because Mickey was Darragh's cousin, didn't mean her guard was automatically down. Threatened by their success and unhappy with their less-than-radical approach to dealing with the PSNI, the Real IRA had put a target on the back of the True army. They worried this could be a ploy to gather intelligence on what was going on in Belfast.

"I'm a little confused," Jimmy said, draping his arm over the back of Catherine's chair. "If you're lookin' to jump ship from Derry to Belfast, I don't think you'd be happy."

Catherine cut in, "Our troubles aren't with the peelers so much anymore. Just with the UVF and UDA."

"Look, I won't lie to youse. There's a huge division goin' on in the Real army right now and it's threatening to implode the entire organization."

"Why should we care about that?" asked Jimmy.

Mickey could tell he was losing them, so it was time to cut to the point. "Darragh saw it comin' years ago. He and Dessie Dennehy, from Cross, weren't happy with the direction youse were goin' either. Before Darragh died, the two of them started recruitin' lads from both Real and True, to form a new organization called Óglaigh na hÉireann. We want to see Darragh's vision come true."

Jimmy could feel Catherine go rigid. Being that she was out of the IRA during that time, she didn't have the slightest clue Darragh was working to form his faction. Straightening in her chair, she wondered why Jimmy seemed unfazed by the revelation.

The commanders knew where this was going, but they let Mickey and Daniel do all the talking.

"Everyone who is connected to the movement, whether they live in Norn Iron or the Republic, knows who the real king of Belfast is—and he, nor the queen are sitting on the council. I'm sure you already know this, but there are still quite a few lads who aren't happy with the direction the Irish Kings are taking the True army." Daniel buttered them up.

"How do Jimmy and I fit into all of this?"

Mickey responded, "To have a solid foundation, Óglaigh na hÉireann needs two things: steady cash flow and an army council who is committed to fightin' the crown forces. If you two agree to come over to ONH and bring your sources, not only will youse be sitting on the council, but we've also agreed to allow youse to decide who occupies the other three seats."

When the waitress passed the table, Jimmy ordered another round of drinks.

Catherine was flabbergasted. She couldn't believe the offer that had been placed on the table. The men from south Armagh had tried to poach her from her position in the ranks of the North Command, but this was an offer too good to walk away from.

In forming the organization, Darragh would have sat on the council. Being asked to essentially finish what he started, was an honor for Catherine.

As for Jimmy, he was waiting patiently for his turn in the elite inner circle of the Irish Kings, growing antsy. He felt as though he had earned the right to finally make the big decisions and lead an organization which shared the same vision as him.

Daniel didn't have to tell them the True IRA was full of disgruntled volunteers. Catherine and Jimmy were leading the pack. They were just extremely good at hiding their discontent from the Irish Kings.

Neither of them was dismissing Mickey and Daniel, though they kept their guard up, not ready to give them a definitive answer just yet.

"How many volunteers are interested in moving over?" Jimmy inquired.

"When Darragh started recruiting in 2004, there were less than thirty. As of ten o'clock last night…over a hundred-and-twenty. From all over; Derry, south Armagh. Dublin, Belfast, Limerick. There's also fellas from Louth, Tyrone, Monaghan. Even bloody Kerry. And that's not counting the lads in Maghaberry," Mickey answered.

Jimmy and Catherine looked at one another. Though they held their composure, neither of them could believe this had generated so much momentum right under their noses in Belfast.

Before they went any further, she wanted to make sure their goals were in line with theirs. "What are the objectives of Óglaigh na hÉireann?"

"A unified Ireland. By forcing the end of British sovereignty over Northern Ireland through the means of physical force. We reject the Mitchell Principles, as well as the Belfast Agreement."

Daniel finished, "We aim to uphold a hardline form of Irish republicanism, which is against any political resolution that falls short of Irish unity and total independence."

Jimmy spoke the point that was on both his and Catherine's minds. "This isn't something that can be assembled overnight. Getting ONH capable of bein' able to sustain any sort of campaign will take quite a bit of time to develop."

They ceased their conversation for a moment as the waitress dropped off the drinks.

"We're aware." Mickey drowned his scotch in one go and stood up from the table. Jimmy followed his lead and welcomed the final handshake. "You built the True army into the strong organization that it is today, Mr. O'Phelan. We believe you and Miss. O'Toole can do the same for ONH. Please, consider our offer. Thank you both for the drinks, and hope to hear from you soon."

After Mickey and Daniel left, Jimmy slid back into his chair. They both needed a moment to gather their thoughts. Digest what had just been offered to them.

In theory, they were both on board—they'd be stupid not to be. This was their chance to finally be the shot callers, no longer bending to the soft orders from the men above their heads. Catherine wanted to form a new sniper team and take out every man who pledged their allegiance to the Ulster Volunteer Force. Jimmy wanted to instill fear back into the hearts of the PSNI and British army.

"What do ya think, a chuisle?" Jimmy drummed his hands on the table.

"I think they laid it on a wee bit thick, but then again, you are a sucker for a good ego stroke." Catherine bit her lip to hold back the laughter that threatened to escape when he rolled his eyes. "But in all seriousness, I agree with everything they said. The logistics though…it'll be a lot of work startin' at ground level again. We have to be fully committed as a team. One, or both of us can't change our minds halfway through."

Jimmy only nodded. Catherine could tell he was deep in his mind and she hated not being able to tell what he was thinking. "Aye. What do you say we get a room, head upstairs, and bang out the details?"

"Nice try, Don Juan. Your cock always stirs up trouble in my life. And not to mention your stepdaughter is back in Belfast watching my boys. How about we head across the street and get dessert, instead."

"Speaking of your boys, are we gonna talk about how Eamonn looks-"

To stop his talking, Catherine pressed her index finger to his mouth. She shook her head. "We're gonna do what everyone else is doing. Ignore it, and pray mighty hard he doesn't ask questions."

"He's a smart kid, Catherine. He's startin' to wonder; you can tell by the way he acts when I'm around. Not to mention, I've held up my end of the bargain. You need to stop fuckin' with my head and using him as a pawn."

There wasn't enough alcohol in the world to numb herself from Jimmy's words. She couldn't deny his observation on Eamonn's behavior, because she saw it too. She also couldn't deny that Jimmy was doing everything she had requested of him if he wanted to spend more time with Eamonn. As far as she knew, he had kept his temper under control and showed no outbursts of violence. He was getting better at controlling the harsh words that spouted from his mouth. But every time Jimmy would ask to spend time with Eamonn without Catherine, she would refuse. Saying she wanted more from him, despite his turnaround already.

She felt like she was stuck between a rock and a hard place. With Darragh gone, it wouldn't do Eamonn any good to keep him from his father. Growing up in a life where too many fathers were torn from their children, Catherine always considered herself one of the lucky ones to still have Patrick around. The last thing she wanted was for Eamonn to grow up with any sort of resentment towards her if he were to find out the secret she had kept from him.

Aside from worrying about Jimmy's unpredictable behavior, Catherine worried about Sean. How would he handle watching his brother have a relationship with Jimmy when Darragh wasn't there to fulfill that void in his life? How could she handle watching Eamonn have a relationship with his father when all she wanted was for Darragh to be the one taking that role? Catherine suddenly realized that keeping them apart for the last year, was done out of her selfish reasoning.

"I'll make a deal with you. You can start coming over more so Eamonn gets comfortable with having you around. If and when he warms up, you can pick him up from St. Matthew's a couple of day's a week."

"I'll come over after Mass on Sunday's and hang out Wednesday nights." Jimmy started playing hardball. "Then, I'll pick him up on Tuesdays and Fridays, with the Sunday and Wednesday plan still in place. And," he said, holding up his index finger to stop Catherine from butting in, "On Friday night's the four of us will get takeaway from Chip'n Fish and hang out at Ormeau Park. Like we use to, back in the day."

She held her gaze firm with Jimmy's, reading the situation. A long time ago, he had told her never to accept the first offer.

"On Wednesdays, you're on homework and bedtime duty, and I reserve the right to use your babysittin' service one Saturday a month."

For Jimmy, it was like dealing with himself.

"I'm only agreein' to all of the above, under one circumstance: when you're in Cali next week, I get to bring both of them to their swim lesson."

Catherine sucked her teeth and cocked her head to the side. After years of watching him negotiate deals, she could tell by his body language that this was the simplest deal she would get out of him. If she pressed her luck any further, he would only ask for more.

"Deal. I'll let my Da know you'll be takin' 'em." She held out her hand to shake on it.

"Pleasure doin' business with ya." He shook her hand before standing up. "C'mon, I'll buy ya a slice of apple cake."

* * *

On the drive back to Craigavon so Catherine could pick up her car, neither of them spoke a word for most of the way. They were drowning in their thoughts, feeling overwhelmed by everything that had been talked about in such a short time.

Over coffee and slices of apple cake, they had decided they'd start reaching out to their buyers, testing the waters to see how they'd react to them jumping ship from the True army. Their sellers wouldn't give two shits, but that didn't mean jack unless they had someone buying their stock.

Catherine was still having a hard time swallowing the fact that if this worked out, she'd be sitting on a council.

"I don't think this is a good time for me to be leavin' and going to California," she blurted out. "If we wanna see this happen within the next year, you need me here gettin' everything in order."

Jimmy knew her apprehension about crossing the Atlantic was about more than just wanting to stay and help him out. It had been six years since she was last in California. Not to mention, she hadn't spoken to either Chibs or Happy since she broke the news to her uncle that Charming was longer in her future. That phone call hadn't ended on good terms. Needless to say, Chibs was the last person she wanted to face, but ironically, he would be the first one she met. Neither Chibs nor Happy had a clue she had risen as high as she did in the ranks. While Catherine was content with everything she's accomplished, she knew Chibs wouldn't feel the same.

He placed a hand on her knee and gave it a tight, assuring squeeze. "SAMCRO buys the most stock from us."

"Where are you goin' with this?" she asked.

Meaning nothing by it, Catherine placed her hand over Jimmy's and curled her fingers between his.

"Instead of headin' straight to the safe house, I want you to stay with McKeavy the whole time. Head back to the SAMCRO clubhouse with him, get a feel for how the relationship between McKeavy and Clay is. That way it won't seem like we're pullin' the rug out from under them. I'm gonna set up a meeting for you to meet with a contact I have out there—Viktor Putlova. He heads the Russian mafia in the northwest. Find out how business is goin' for them, see if there's anything we can supply them with."

_He came up with that damn fast_, Catherine thought. Then it clicked.

"Darragh came to you with this idea, didn't he? You two were gonna leave—that's why you weren't surprised, you knew someone would eventually bring it up again."

He took a deep breath. Wouldn't be any use to lie to her now. "I, Donny, and Dessie…we've been workin' on this for a long time."

"Am I'm guessin' it was a collective decision to push the Sons of Anarchy out, so you could do business with the Russians?" Jimmy's lack of answer spoke louder than words. "Christ, Jimmy. Do you have any idea what kind of shitstorm that'll create? The Kings'll come after us-"

"Don't worry about the Kings, a chuisle. By the time we get our feet planted on the ground, we'll be nearly three-hundred strong. I'm to lead as chief of staff. Darragh was supposed to be the director of operations and there was talk of you takin' over that role. But, I want you as my adjunct general."

She shrugged to find words. She had no idea this movement was as big as it was, and she had selected to sit on the council long before tonight. "Thank you, so much."

"Don't thank me, Catherine." His eyes not leaving the road, Jimmy kissed the back of her hand. "You've earned it."


	40. Turas

**Charming, California **

It broke Chibs' heart to see Catherine sitting across the bar. Four years ago, she was supposed to be on her way to Charming with those precious boys in tow. She made him believe she was desperate to put the Republican Army in her past. Instead, she turned into a version of Jimmy. She even carried the same arrogance. Chibs wondered how Patrick, Fiona, and most importantly his sister, could sit back and watch the transformation take place.

He prayed the change in her personality was all an act. And that the endearing little girl he remembered wasn't gone forever.

"We've got a major problem," Clay said, stopping to light a cigar. "The warehouse where we store and assemble our stock was targeted by the Mayans. They torched it."

Chibs casually kept his eye on his niece as he drank his beer. Watching as she nipped three-fingers of whiskey, he looked for signs of any remaining benevolence.

Catherine listened carefully to the banter between SAMCRO's president and the man under her command. When McKeavy asked how the destruction of their warehouse would affect business, her ears perked up. Clay's admission that it would be three months before they were back in commission seemed like a gift from God that had been dropped in her lap.

"Are you sayin' it'll be three months before ya buy any weapons from us?" she pried.

"We're taking a hit, too. This is just business...eventually, the numbers will get back on track."

Catherine shook her head. "This is far from just business for us, Clay. What ya need to understand is that True IRA isn't your friendly neighborhood supplier; we're soldiers, so we are. We can't wait for our money because this is how we fund the cause."

Chibs could only roll his eyes. No doubt she was regurgitating the propaganda Jimmy had been spoon-feeding her.

"If we can't sell 'em, that means we lose valuable time and the progress we've made." McKeavy was just as vexed as Catherine.

"Shite like this is life. We're not sayin' we won't be buyin' from ya anymore, we just need time to get back on our feet." Chibs couldn't bite his tongue any longer.

"We can't afford to wait," she snapped.

"What are you saying, O'Toole?" Clay asked.

Thick tension filled the room. Catherine made a snap decision that she was sure both Jimmy and the Irish Kings would back her on. "If you can't front us the cash, ya leave me no choice but to go elsewhere. It's nothin' personal...as you said, it's just _business_."

Clay, Jax, Bobby, Tig, and Chibs couldn't believe what they were hearing. After a long faithful relationship with the IRA, it confused them as to why now they would be so unwilling to work with them. Losing the Irish pipeline would tank SAMCRO's income as well.

Dropping his head, all Chibs could do was shake it. He couldn't even be mad at Catherine. Her interest was keeping the cause flush; not SAMCRO. It still didn't stop him from being disappointed over her choice to follow Jimmy's orders blindly, rather than help them out.

Clay decided that Catherine wasn't worth his time. He hardly knew her but knew her well enough to understand where her loyalty sat. At least with McKeavy, he had a chance. "Never once did we miss a payment or skimp out. When you guys decided to split from Adams and McGuinness, I stayed loyal while you were getting settled."

"Spare me the shite. Ya stayed because we offered a better deal and more hardware."

Catherine picked up the glass and tossed back the rest of the whiskey. "If you gentlemen would like to retain us as your supplier, I'm gonna need the three months cost upfront."

"You want 250k upfront?" said Bobby. "Every penny we have is tied up in the rebuild for the warehouse. We can't afford that."

When she briefly glanced at Chibs, he watched as her face softened. She ignored Jimmy's voice telling her to stand firm—that SOA was the one roadblock on her path to sitting on an army council. She knew Jax had a newborn son in the NICU, that Chibs relied on IRA weapons to pay his bills. The last thing she wanted was for Chibs to struggle the same way he struggled in Belfast.

Jimmy may not have a problem with leaving SOA high and dry, but Catherine didn't have it in her. Surely, there was another way to make it work.

The SAMCRO warehouse burning down was awful for business on both sides, but Catherine knew she had options if they couldn't come up with the money. And neither of those options involved her cutting off SOA. But, if she went back to Belfast with nothing to show for this shipment, it would be her ass on the line. She'd do whatever she could to keep the relationship alive, along with Jimmy and the Irish Kings off her back.

"I have two little boys back home who rely on me and I'm stuck here for the next week because of some issues up north. If Michael can get SAMCRO backup so I can catch an earlier flight back to Belfast, I'll drop the cost to 200k."

Dessie and the lads from south Armagh could easily move an additional fifty-thousand-dollars worth of illegal cigarettes and petrol through Northern Ireland to cover the deficit.

She could already hear Jimmy screaming at her, but she was more than willing to take the heat.

Clay clamped a cigar between his teeth and held out his hand to Catherine. She accepted it and smiled warmly.

When she reached for a lighter on the bar to light her cigarette, Catherine's shirt sleeve rode up. Chibs noticed the tattoo on her wrist.

"I love you, always." It read. "Xo Darragh."

And it was in Darragh's left-handed writing.

It clicked that Jimmy had little influence over her decision to rejoin the Ra. She was stuck in the anger phase of her grief, and all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and bring peace to her war-torn world.

So, when Clay asked who wanted to volunteer their time to accompany McKeavy up north, Chibs didn't hesitate. After six years, this would be his chance to get quality time with Catherine.

* * *

**Oakland, California.**

The trio checked into a cheap motel for the night. In the morning, Chibs and McKeavy would make their way to the docks, take possession of three more oil barrels and deliver their contents to a small-time street gang. A drop that Catherine was pleased to stay very far from. She would head back to Lodi, check-in on Eddie Hayes and then head back to Oakland where she would prepare for her meeting with Viktor Putlova the following afternoon. In three days, she was hoping to be back in Belfast with Eamonn and Sean.

Feeling the fatigue of a long day seep into his bones, all Chibs looked forward to was a hot shower and a cool bed. After he parked his Harley and rounded the stairs to head up to his room, he ducked on the landing when he overhead Catherine on the phone. Eves-dropping on other people's conversations wasn't his forte, but he couldn't help himself when he realized she had Jimmy on the other line.

"…it's in our best interest to give them at least a month. We were able to get those AK's at a deep discount since no one wanted 'em." Chibs heard her sniffle. Of course, the mother fucker made her cry. "We're not in any position do that right now. Besides, Dessie can move another shipment now that the guards have their attention focused on the fellas on their side of the border." Even he could hear Jimmy yelling from Belfast. "If it's that big of a fuckin' deal then, I'll head over to Boston to arrange the extra cargo and be there with the unit to see it gets safely to the farm."

That was the end of the conversation, Chibs assumed because all he heard next was the snap of Catherine's phone, a storm of Irish curses and the strike of her lighter.

He was caught by surprise when her next words were directed at him. "You can come up now."

Chibs held his breath for a moment, embarrassed that he had been caught. Slowly he made his way up the flight of stairs. On the top step, he found Catherine sitting. Her knees were pulled up to her chest as she puffed on a cigarette. Stress was written all over her face and it looked as though the conversation aged her by five years.

Not wanting to seem confrontational, Chibs eased down to sit on the step just below the one she occupied. Under the fluorescent light, he could see the physical evidence of her hard life back home.

Her face was a battlefield of deeply carved scars. One on her cheek from a UDA attack on a republican funeral when she had been just a wee girl. Another on her forehead thanks to the baton of a British soldier after she got between Patrick and the army during one of his numerous arrests.

The one that cut through her lower lip happened when Chibs tackled her to the ground, trying to stop her from throwing a petrol bomb at the RUC during an outbreak of violence after an Orange Order parade. On the long list of grieves that Chibs refused to forgive Jimmy for, him being the one who handed Catherine that Molotov cocktail was at the top.

Chibs never understood why Jimmy had chosen her to infect with the same hate and thirst for savagery that plagued him for most of his adult life. Liam had been just as impressionable, but she was an easy target, seriously angered by the maltreatment Patrick endured. She remembered visiting her father at the Kesh, his face often black and blue. Just as Darragh's had been during his time at Maghaberry.

"Everything okay?" he asked, breaking the taut silence.

Catherine only nodded. "Ya know how he gets."

He knew all too well.

A skirmish was the last thing he wanted, but after she decided all so suddenly to scrap her plans to come to Charming for good, Chibs needed to hear the truth. He feared she wouldn't give it to him. Lowering her inhibitions wasn't the most ethical thing to do, but he was a desperate uncle who wanted to be sure he wasn't sending her back to the lion's den.

Popping open the small front pocket of his kutte, Chibs pulled out a joint. He tucked it into the corner of his mouth and used her pink lighter to toke up. Taking a deep drag and holding the smoke in his chest, he handed it off.

Hesitantly, Catherine took the joint from him. As she held it between the index and middle fingers a cigarette had just sat, she examined it. The only time she had ever been high in her life was with Darragh. The fond memories of that night had flooded back to her and she smiled. Placing it between her lips, she took a drag and prayed she wouldn't cough like a rookie.

Thankfully, she didn't. She blew out a thick cloud of smoke and handed it back to Chibs. It was a surreal moment for both of them. They never imagined the day would come where they'd be sitting together, passing a joint.

"You know what happens when you get caught with this shite back home?" She swallowed hard, alleviating the burn in the back of her throat.

"Aye. A bullet in each knee courtesy of the Irish Republican Army."

An awkward silence fell upon them again. Neither was sure of what to say as too much tension had built between them over the last several years.

"We don't have to do this."

Chibs looked at her with confusion. "Do what?"

"Sit here and try to have a conversation like nothin' is wrong. I know you're mad at me-"

"Not mad. _Mildly _disappointed."

Catherine snorted. "Is it the Ra, or Jimmy?"

"Jimmy," he said honestly. "As for the Ra…you didn't stand a fuckin' chance."

It was true. Even though Brien never went down that road, he still fell into a crowd of outlaws. Leather and Harley's were more his style.

She could feel the burning shame of her past turning her cheeks a bright shade of red. Her life was never supposed to turn out this way and she'd wish she could take it all back. But that would mean her life would be without a sweet boy whom she loved more than life itself. Her relationship with Jimmy may have been the worst thing she ever did, though it was difficult for her to write it off completely as she considered Eamonn to be her saving grace.

"We haven't been, together, for a very long time. Ever since I went back to the cause, people think I am though. The worst part too is that they believe I only got to where I am by shaggin' him."

"Youse aren't together anymore?"

"Nope." She took another drag from the joint. "I saw who he is. And I refuse to allow myself to crawl back to him just because I can remember how he used to be. I tolerate the advances because he's my superior officer and Eamonn's father."

"Him bein' Eamonn's father doesn't mean shite, Catherine, and ya know that. Think about why ya wanted to leave Belfast in the first place. Because ya were sick of that life and ya didn't want to be around it anymore."

"Aye, but that all changed after Darragh died. If I hadn't left the cause, he would still be here. I owe it to him to finish what he started."

If Chibs rolled his eyes any harder, they would have been in the back of his head. He couldn't believe that she blaming herself for Darragh's demise. "What happened to Darragh happened because he was an IRA man. The same target he had his back, is now the same target you've got on yours."

"He only had that target because he was convicted of a murder he didn't commit."

"If that's the fuckin' case, then how would you not leavin' change anythin'?"

Catherine didn't want to say it, but she felt like she didn't have a choice. "Because of Jimmy; plain and simple. The six counties knew Jimmy and I were on the outs and that's why I left. If we weren't, the UVF never would'a dared layin' a goddamn finger on him. I know you don't want to hear this, but I'm Jimmy's pride and joy. Ya hurt me, in any way, you'll feel the whole wrath that is James O'Phelan. With me out of Jimmy's life, they knew they could finally get to Darragh without worryin' about brutal retaliation. My relationship with Jimmy was the only thing that kept Darragh alive. It's no different than why Fiona hasn't left Jimmy either. We've both backed ourselves into a corner with the devil and now we have to do what we can to survive."

Chibs didn't like her answer in the slightest.

"Ya had an opportunity to get out of that corner and ya just stayed there like a coward."

"What was I supposed to do? I was denied entry into the United States and I wouldn't have been able to get false documents without Jimmy or Darragh finding out. If I went to the Republic, I would have ended up fallin' in with the fellas of the Continuity army because I was half-broke and this is the only life I know."

Catherine was disheartened by Chibs' blatant hypocrisy. After he was excommunicated by the Republican Army, he had the opportunity to turn around and make an honest life for himself. Rather, he chose the Sons of Anarchy because the outlaw life was all he knew, too. She felt he was being unfair, chastising her for the decision she deemed to be right for herself and her sons. Whether Chibs liked it or not, both Catherine and Fiona were under Jimmy's thumb, and he kept them there, by providing for them. With the work Catherine did for Jimmy, she could afford a decent house, put food on the table and clothes on her boy's backs. And through his connections, she had been able to get Eamonn and Sean into a good school.

And what Chibs had wrong, was that being back on Jimmy's side meant there was no UVF or UDA target on her back. The only thing she had to fear was the PSNI and MI5, but even then she'd love to see them try to pin anything on her. As far as they were concerned, she was a broke single mom who got by as a bartender at one of Belfast's most profitable pubs.

"I know you say that Jimmy bein' Eamonn's father doesn't mean shite. But you, of all people, know what it's like grown' up without a da. When Jimmy's around Eamonn and Sean, even Kerrianne, he's a different person. Having those boys changed my life and Darragh's for the better…maybe having Eamonn around will change his, too."

"A man like Jimmy will never change."

"I will not defend anything he's done, but you don't know that. My da did horrific…unspeakable things when the three of us were grownin' up. He's still gettin' hauled in by the peelers, tryin' to get information outta him about the Disappeared. And let's not forget how many times he beat up on my Ma and brothers. But over the last decade or so, it's like he's a different person. I believe people can change for the better."

It was a blessing and a curse for Chibs to see that Catherine may be the same naive little girl he remembered. The love she felt for Jimmy still swallowed her and it was her soft heart that would eventually be her downfall.

"Your da's a drunk who can't control his anger. He changed because he quit nippin' the bottle."

"So it was the drink that made him torture and kill God knows how many people? Or was it his circumstances? The same circumstances that turned Jimmy into who he is."

"It sounds like you're defending him, Catherine."

She shook her head. Defending Jimmy wasn't her intention.

"Because of a bloody informer, I ended up gettin' arrested under the Terrorism Act which ruined any chance I had at leaving Northern Ireland for good. I have to live with that and do what I can to make life in Belfast work. And if that means bein' Jimmy's perfect little soldier and lettin' him be around Eamonn, then so be it. I'm not in Fiona's position so things could be a hell of a lot worse. How about this: when you decide to leave SAMCRO, I'll leave the Ra. Until that day, ya need to respect the decision I've made to protect my family. The only reason you're upset with me, is because you can't live with the guilt of leavin' Kerrianne, and ya thought brinin' me here would make up for it. I may be a coward for stayin', but you're a coward for leavin' your girls behind." Grabbing her cellphone and cigarettes, Catherine stood up. "Admit it, Filip, you're just as afraid of Jimmy O as the rest of us."

As she started walking down the pathway to her room, Chibs called out to her. "If you're so afraid of him, you could learn a lesson or two from Liam."

Catherine stopped in her tracks and turned around. "What?"

"Liam is the only one who isn't afraid of Jimmy."

"What…what are you talkin' about?"

Closing the distance between them, Chibs brought his mouth close to Catherine's ear and lowered his voice. "I guess you aren't as good of a commander as you think. If you opened your eyes and looked three-feet in front of you, you'd be amazed by what's been goin' on right under your nose."


	41. Old Flames

Catherine knew Eddie Hayes was giving her a rundown on what had been going on at the safe house over the last six months. Her mind was so occupied by replaying Chibs' words over and over, that all she heard was static. To give the illusion that she was at least listening, she would nod and throw in an "okay," or "sounds good," every time he looked at her with concern.

In the back pocket of her jeans, she could feel her cellphone buzzing nearly every five minutes. Knowing that it was Jimmy trying to get ahold of her, only made her less interested in what Eddie had been up to. He could have running a whorehouse and selling cocaine out of there for all she cared at this point.

He took her to the garage to show her the set up he had going on. McKeavy was in charge of hand delivering merchandise to SAMCRO, but it was Eddie's responsibility to make sure their other customers were being taken care of. He also shipped back whatever weapons and explosives he could get his hands on through Jimmy's connection at the nearby Marines base.

At first, Catherine had doubted his ability to keep things running smoothly stateside without his father, Cameron, but she was pleased to find he had proved her wrong.

"Any issues with Port Authority? AFT, Homeland Security? FBI?" she asked.

"As long as McKeavy keeps the Port Authority's hands greased, we've no problems. No issues with the feds either 'cuz we've been keepin' our noses to the ground."

"Good." Her meeting with Putlova was also at the forefront of her mind. "If we were to take on another fairly large distribution, do you think you'd be able to handle it on your own? We'd understand if you don't think you can, and it would only be temporary so we can afford to send over more manpower."

Eddie eyed Catherine suspiciously, trying to figure out what was up to her sleeve. He was afraid it was a test. If he said he couldn't handle it, he worried that he would be sent back to Armagh and put on bitch-duty as a more capable bloke was sent in as his replacement.

"I think I could handle it."

Catherine nodded, annoyed that her phone was ringing for the umpteenth time. Pulling it out of her pocket, she looked at the caller ID and sure enough, it was Jimmy.

Though when it hit her as to what time it was back in Belfast, she mentally slapped herself. This most likely had nothing to do with him lecturing her again on the deal she had made with Clay, and all to do with the fact her boys wanted to talk to her before settling down for the night.

Excusing herself, she headed back into the house and closed the door to the first unoccupied bedroom she found. Flipping it open, she sat on the bed.

"Thank God there's no real emergency here," Jimmy said sarcastically. "I guess you're havin' too much fun to remember you've also got responsibilities back home."

She so badly wanted to tell him to go fuck himself. He knew what was on her itinerary for this trip and the eight-hour time difference only exasperated things. Still, Catherine kept it civil.

"I'm in Lodi, meetin' with Eddie. I just figured you'd want my attention on things here. Are you sayin' I should be worried about what's going on there with Eamonn and Sean instead?"

"They're tough fellas. Gettin' along just fine without their ma breathin' down their necks."

Catherine rolled her eyes. Jimmy, Patrick, and Brien had been on her the last few months about how she needed to let go and let the boys be kids. What they failed to understand, was Catherine felt as though they were all she had left in life and it was difficult for her to loosen her grip. But hearing that they were doing fine without her, planted the seed that maybe it was time not worry so much.

In the background, Catherine could hear Eamonn and Sean banter and laugh.

She picked a loose thread off the quilt, almost embarrassed to ask her looming question. "They miss me?"

"Are you serious?" Jimmy sneered. "Of course they bloody miss you." A small smile crept over Catherine's lips. For a moment there was silence between them before he earnestly added, "Maybe I miss you, too."

"For some reason, I highly doubt that."

"Shut your goddamn mouth. You know I always fuckin' miss ya when you're gone."

"Watch your fuckin' gob around those boys, yeah?" Catherine scolded. "They're retainin' everything they hear from you, my Da and brothers. Just last week I had a sit down with Sean's teacher and Father Ashby because he was callin' kids in his class arseholes."

"Huh. I wonder where else he gets it from."

"Just…just let me talk to 'em."

Telling Catherine to hold on for a second, Jimmy hit the speaker button and handed the phone off to the backseat where little hands immediately began grasping for it. The brothers fought over who would hold it, then they quickly decided they both would.

As he drove the boys back to west Belfast from the Short Strand after their swim lesson, Jimmy listened to their conversation, marveling at how easily Catherine had taken to motherhood. She loved those boys just as much as they loved her and that was clear as day. The bond between the three of them was like none other. They told her about school and how Patrick promised them pizza for dinner. They joked and laughed. Then the boys took her seriously when she reminded them to be on their best behavior.

He had seen more of their dynamic ever since Catherine moved back to the Falls Road. As he now watched Eamonn grow up, it punched Jimmy in the gut when he thought about all the milestones he missed. Crawling, those first wobbly steps. Even Eamonn's first words. The regret he felt for missing three years of Eamonn's life ran deep.

There was no one he could blame but himself and Jimmy knew that. All because his over possessiveness led to aggression he felt like he had little control over. He was determined to make good on the wrongs he's done to Catherine because he desperately wanted to be a part of their family. Like Darragh had stepped up to care for and love Eamonn when he was out of the picture, Jimmy wanted to be there for Sean.

All he craved was a place to belong. And for Jimmy, that place was beside Catherine.

After Catherine told Eamonn and Sean about a thousand times that she loves and misses them, and would be home soon, Jimmy took the phone back.

When she heard the rain start beating against Jimmy's car, it all became too much for her. She missed her boys, she missed the rain. She missed Belfast. Before Jimmy could sense anything was wrong, she quickly squashed her tears and cleared her throat.

"Just pulled up to your parents, so I'm gonna run 'em inside. Keep your phone on ya. We've still gotta talk about that deal ya made with Clay."

Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes. She had been hoping that would blow over. To make up for the mistake she made taking fifty-thousand off their usual payout, she wondered if the information she got from Chibs would make up for it. But she stopped herself from saying anything. If her suspicions were right, she wanted to get in front of the issue before Jimmy caught wind.

God forbid her gut feeling was wrong. There's no way she could save Liam if word got out that she thought he was a tout.

"Aye. Hug my boys for me."

"You know I will," he said, feeling the melancholy of her absence set in. "Keep your head up. It won't be long until you're back."

After their goodbyes, Catherine pulled herself together before rejoining Eddie in the garage and getting back to business.

* * *

Unsure of what exactly brought her to Charming, she ended up at the only diner in town, taking a seat in a back booth that was secluded from most patrons. When the waitress came by, she ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fries, feeling silly when she almost referred to the fries as chips.

As she stirred a couple of packets of sugar into the iced tea, Catherine dialed a number she knew by heart. Much to her pleasure, PSNI detective Ian Wright answered on the third ring.

"It's never good news when I get a call from you," he joked.

"I didn't know you considered a thick envelope of cash to be a bad thing."

"Ya got me there. How can my services be of use to you?"

Giving the diner a quick scan, Catherine wanted to make sure no one could overhear her conversation. With everyone in their worlds, she lowered her voice and cut to the point.

"Do you have access to old RUC records on informers? And current ones for the PSNI and MI5?"

The pause worried her at first. Was he backing out now? Was this the request that finally made him realize the agreement he had with the IRA wasn't worth it anymore? When she heard him rustle papers on his desk, no doubt looking for a pen and scrap paper, the anxiety slid off her.

"What years?"

"The last twenty, if possible. Otherwise, since 2000 should work," she said, doing quick math in her head.

"I'll see what I can dig up. This better not blowback in Belfast, got it?"

"It hasn't yet, and I promise it won't. Such little faith ya have in me, Ian."

He heard what she said, but decided not to entertain it. For nearly ten years he managed to stay clean and not turn dirty like some of the men he worked with. That all changed a year ago when Jimmy discovered Ian was having an affair with Catherine.

She thought he would certainly have her excommunicated and kneecapped. But he didn't, only because that relationship proved to be beneficial to him. Unlike her, Jimmy wasn't above extortion. To make sure his Protestant wife didn't find out about his fling with the young suspected IRA member, Ian agreed to stop seeing Catherine carnally, and give them information when they asked.

There wasn't much for him to complain about with the arrangement. He was compensated handsomely for the intelligence he passed along, and his reputation at work was still intact.

"When do ya think you'll be back in town?"

When the waitress dropped off her burger and fries, Catherine wasted no time digging in. It was her first meal in a day and a half. She answered him in-between bites. "I'm hopin' within the next couple' days. I may have some business to take care of right away when I get back, so let me know when you're ready to meet. No rush."

Ian sighed. "Caught a case yesterday afternoon on Sandy Row. Of course no one's talkin', so it may be a week before ya hear from me."

She envisioned him looking worn-out; running a hand through his blond high and tight haircut. Being on the Serious Crimes Branch never left him with much free time, which was the driving force for his never-ending marriage woes. Catherine felt for him. Despite how hard he worked, she never understood why his wife chose to nag him, rather than make his home life comfortable. That, in turn, was what drove Ian to Catherine in the first place.

After long tense hours at work, she would fix him a hot and proper meal and just listen to him vent about his day.

If it weren't for Catherine being a Catholic and of course a member of an illegal organization, Ian would have left his wife for her years ago.

"Aye. You been takin' care of yourself?" She was genuinely concerned about his overall wellbeing. The last time she saw Ian, he looked ghastly.

"As best I can. I'll have time to breathe, eat, and sleep when the Prots stop killin' each other. And when youse quit puttin' explosives under our cars and throwin' pipe bombs at our stations."

Catherine pushed her plate away. She lost her appetite when the guilt of making Ian's job far more difficult set in. She'd never apologize for it because if she did that would mean admitting to her involvement.

She did use it as an opportunity to be a ballbuster. "Tellin' me that does ya no good. I've never been nor ever will be part of that God-awful Republican Army. Typical English though, thinkin' all Irish run with those animals."

"I'm only half-English. So quickly you've forgotten that."

"Half…may as well be full-blooded in my opinion."

"Ya didn't seem to have much of an issue with it when I was shaggin' your brains out." In the empty warroom at the Musgrave Police Station, Ian leaned back in his chair and threw his feet up on his desk. He used his shoulder to hold the cellphone against his ear as he loosened the knot of his tie. "Speakin' of which, when are ya gonna let me back those knickers of yours?"

She knew at some point that question would come up. When she ended all casual communication with him over five months ago, Catherine thought Ian would take the hint that part of their relationship was over. He didn't.

They were both well aware of the fact that nothing serious could develop between them. Not only did they live on opposite sides of the law, but they also live on opposite sides of the peace walls, which often made things morally difficult in their eyes.

It pained Ian to know that one of Catherine's chief objectives was to prevent the functioning the normal policing operations in Northern Ireland. If the PSNI succeeded, that would put them on similar footing with the rest of the United Kingdom. After a coffee jar bombing at one of the stations in Belfast, Ian warned Catherine that if the targeted attacks continued, the crown forces wouldn't think twice about putting the army back on the streets. He had no idea that she too wanted them to stop, and was just following orders by authorizing the operations.

Every time a bomb was tossed over station gates, or mortars and guns were fired in the direction of officers, she prayed like hell that Ian was never caught in the crossfire.

On Tuesday mornings when all members of the Serious Crimes Branch gathered in a secure room to discuss their progress on the paramilitaries, it made Ian sick to his stomach to look at Catherine's current driving license photo thumbtacked to the IRA corkboard. Below it was her first mug shot. She was sandwiched between Jimmy and Donny because they didn't know just how high she climbed in the ranks.

"Ya know we can't be doin' that anymore. Or else you'll be addin' my name to the list of Disappeared."

There was a tense pause. Catherine was sure she could hear Ian's heart-shattering.

He cleared his throat, turning back to business. "Right. So, I'll give you a bell after diggin' up the paperwork you're lookin' for."

"Thank you." She wasn't sure how to end the conversation from here. "Make sure you're takin' care of yourself, yeah? You're workin' yourself ragged."

"Aye. You too."

And with that said, Ian ended the phone call.

Snapping her phone shut, Catherine tossed it on the table and then rested her forehead in her palms. It became obvious that Ian hadn't stuck to the agreement of things staying casual between them. Him garnering feelings wasn't something Catherine ever saw coming. Besides an itching need to get laid, they had nothing in common. In between rounds of mindless screwing, there was nothing to talk about.

Though on several occasions he had made the mistake of telling her about the cases he was working on. Never once did she divulge any information about what was happening in the Ra, leaving Ian to wonder if she was back. Or just running around doing Jimmy's bitch work.

What struck deep fear in Catherine was the unknown of whether or not Ian would attempt to use their affair to pressure her into touting. She paid him in cash so there was no way to prove he took money from the IRA. His job would more than likely be safe, while on the other hand she would be done for if he leaked word.

An Irish woman falling into an affair with an Englishman was one thing—it happened quite often. But it was another for said Englishman to be a police officer, and she an IRA volunteer. There was little chance the Internal Security Unit would believe Catherine if she said she kept her mouth shut. Not with the PSNI foiling so many of their operations.

Only a few seconds later, her phone started vibrating. Thinking it was Ian calling back, she scrambled to pick it up. Looking at the caller ID, her heart sank when she saw it was Jimmy. Not in the mood to deal with him, she sent him straight to voicemail. Once upon a time, she would never dare to do that, but at this point in her life, she couldn't care less.

Deciding to head back to Oakland and prepare for her meeting with Putlova the following day, Catherine rummaged through her wallet for money to cover the cost of her meal. Gathering her phone and purse, she scooted out of the booth and headed outside.

When the hot afternoon sunlight beamed down on her, Catherine stopped to dig for her sunglasses. Slipping them over her eyes, she looked up, stunned to see who was at the curb. Immediately, she slapped her hand over her mouth. Seeing him there felt like a dream, leaving her unsure if she was still in reality.

Nonetheless, there he was, leaning against his Harley. Toothpick in his mouth, shades over his eyes.

"Chibs told me you were in town. I almost didn't believe him." Grabbing the helmet that was dangling from the handlebars, Happy took a couple of steps forward. He held out the helmet for her to take. "C'mon, let's go for a ride."

Catherine's heart was beating so fast in her chest; she was certain it would explode. Seeing Happy standing there in front of her, the last six years felt almost non-existent. Still, she wasn't sure if it was a good idea, remembering the consequences of the last time she mixed SOA business and pleasure.

Just as she was about to decline and offer to buy him a slice of pie instead, she felt a cool breeze blow through her hair. Something—someone—telling her to let go, to have fun. Enjoy her brief freedom away from the conflict back home.

Her freedom from Jimmy.

In her hand, her phone began to ring. This time she didn't just send the call to voicemail, she turned it off altogether. Catherine smiled wide and took the helmet from Happy.


	42. Inked

The wind in her face, the sun beating hot on her skin—that was true liberation for Catherine. Her arms wrapped tightly around Happy as he wove through the Northern California mountains. Not a single thought of home existed in her mind. All she focused on was the present. The air smelt sweeter than ever before. Colors even seemed more vibrant.

Happy wasn't one to normally enjoy the added weight of a passenger on the back of his Harley. He found it slowed him down. But when he hit an empty and flat highway, he switched gears and throttled, pushing the Dyna to its limit. Catherine rested her chin on his shoulder and much to his surprise, the quick acceleration didn't frighten her. The faster he went, the more she enjoyed it.

His type of gal.

Stopping at a hot dog stand just off the highway, Happy bought dinner for him and Catherine. He didn't like that the sun was starting to dip below the horizon. Navigating the curves of the mountain roads wasn't fun after dark.

At one of the benches, they sat opposite one another just scarfing down their food. It wasn't until Catherine reached for the salt shaker did he see it. Lightly grabbing her wrist, Happy turned her forearm up.

"When did you get that done?" he asked, eyeing her reaction carefully.

Licking mustard from the corner of her mouth, Catherine looked down at the goddamn shamrock tattoo that caused her so much trouble in her days. It was over a decade old now and that was evident by the fading shades of green. The "D" was still bold.

"God," she cleared her throat, "Has to have been, over five-six years ago. Right after my son was born."

"I could've done better." He shrugged, not at all impressed with the cover-up. "My offer for ink is still on the table."

Catherine cocked her head to the side, weighing her options carefully. "Fuck it. Let's do it. I've had a design in mind for a while now."

"Like, today?"

She nodded. There wasn't anything left on her agenda for the day and Jimmy was surely beyond pissed at her at this point. Taking the rest of the night for herself wouldn't be such a bad thing.

Wiping the salt and crumbs off her hands, Catherine asked for her phone. From a secure pocket in his kutte, Happy handed her the iPhone used for non-business related communication. Swiping through the thousands of photos of Eamonn and Sean, Catherine came across what she was looking for.

"Do you think you could do somethin' like this?"

Taking off his sunglasses, Happy enlarged the image. He made a 'pfft," sound before popping the phone back into his kutte. "I can do that with my eyes closed."

"Can ya do it with 'em open, though?" Catherine asked. By the way Happy furrowed his brow, she realized he had taken her seriously. The panic began to set in. "Shite. I'm jokin', so I am. Please don't think I'm an eejit." Between her thick accent and use of slang, she knew she was only making herself look sillier. Her cheeks turned a deep shade of red. "Jesus...I'm embarrassin' me'self, aren't I?"

After slipping his sunglasses on, Happy gathered his garbage. "One of these days, I'll understand what you're saying."

* * *

Happy ended up taking her to a tattoo shop in Oakland. He often did freelance work out of there when he needed to bring in some extra cash. His first instinct was to bring her back to the clubhouse in Charming, but it made more sense to keep her away.

After Catherine told him about her subsequent court-martial when they first had sex, he was wary of putting his hands on her. Irish eyes could be lurking in the shadows and her getting in trouble was the last thing Happy wanted.

When he found out about the plan for her to come to Charming, he had been looking forward to having her around. Nothing serious would ever grow between them, but that didn't mean she wasn't cool to be around. All he was looking for anyway was a drinking and fuck buddy. She more than proved she was perfectly fine with that six years ago.

Chibs had been the one who broke the news to him that Charming was no longer part of Catherine's future. From the beginning, Happy had a feeling she was all talk, and for the life of him, he couldn't understand why Chibs had been so upset. Some people just weren't meant for mundane civilian life. From the moment he met her, Happy knew she was one of those.

Had Catherine ended up at the diner job and two-bedroom apartment in the often less-than-stimulating town of Charming, Happy saw one of two outcomes for her: hitting the bottle or fleeing back to Belfast in the middle of the night.

She wasn't ready to leave and there was no shame in that. She seemed to be doing fine. No bruises. No skittishness.

"Come check this out." Happy's raspy voice snapped Catherine's attention. She shut the book of tattoo designs and walked over to the area where he was drawing out the stencil.

Sitting back in the chair, Happy slipped the pencil behind his ear and moved the light so she could get a better look. It was beautiful; even better than what she had envisioned in her head.

"It's brilliant, Hap. I love it."

Not saying much of anything, Happy grabbed the stencil and motioned for her to follow him.

"Take your shirt off," he instructed, sitting back down.

Catherine hesitated for a second. It felt like such a mistake being there with him. The entire day she felt like she had eyes on her, following every move she made. There was nothing for her to worry about anymore; she and Jimmy weren't together and as a senior officer, her actions were no one's business but her own. Her nagging anxiety refused to go away because she so badly feared to lose her rank.

She only felt more at ease when Happy busied himself with filling small cups with black ink and prepping everything he needed. Peeling the cotton t-shirt off her torso, Happy didn't make the slightest deal about her standing there in only her pants and black lace bra.

Laying down on her stomach, Catherine situated before Happy transferred the stencil to the area at the top of her spine.

"You ready?" he asked, dipping the fresh needle into black ink.

Catherine only nodded and squeezed her eyes shut. She loved the result but despised the process of being pricked over and over. After a few minutes, she relaxed fully and opened her eyes.

"Ya know, I'm almost thirty and all I can worry about right now is how my Da is gonna be pissed when he sees I've gotten another one."

"My Mom's the same way." Happy stopped for a moment to wipe away the flooding ink. "What does this symbol mean?"

"It's a Celtic motherhood knot. And for every child, you add a dot."

"So does that mean in about ten years, this entire thing'll be filled with dots?"

"Don't be an arsehole," Catherine laughed. "In all seriousness though, I'm not havin' anymore."

At the risk of seeming intrusive, Happy didn't care. He still asked, "Why not?"

For one, Catherine was quietly ashamed of the fact her boys had different fathers. She had always wanted three children, taking inspiration from her mother. Adding another man into the mix now, Catherine feared it would only make her look like a floozy. But at the end of the day, none of that even mattered.

"Because Darragh was the only one I ever wanted to have a family with. I have my Sean so I have nothin' to be sorry for."

Happy had seen his fair share of old ladies fall apart when their men are put to ground or ended up in prison. He was admired by the fact Catherine hadn't allowed the crushing grief to defeat her. Rather, she used it as motivation.

"I'm surprised you're not tryin' to lecture me as my uncle did."

His concentration on her artwork remained focused. "Not my place to tell you what to do with your life. As long as you and the boys aren't gettin' beat up, and you're safe, I got no gripes."

"Too bad Filip doesn't see it that way."

* * *

Sitting in the middle of the bed with her legs crossed, Catherine was afraid to turn on her phone. It had been off nearly all day and there was no way of knowing what kind of voicemails awaited her. When it was finally booted up, she went right for the missed call log.

"Fuck me," she whispered, scrolling.

Seventeen. She counted seventeen missed calls from Jimmy. Glancing at the alarm clock on the nightstand, she shuttered when she realized how late it was. With the time difference, it was nearly seven o'clock in the morning back in Belfast. She brazenly pressed the button bearing the small green phone and held it up to her ear.

The whole time it rang, she held her breath. Praying he was asleep and not sitting in the leather armchair in his office waiting for this very moment.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Catherine," he huffed. She was surprised he hadn't started the yelling off the bat. "Ya scared the shite outta me. Thought somethin' bloody happened to you."

He wasn't mad, just worried. Not used to seeing this side of him, Catherine wasn't sure how to respond. At first, she thought he was drunk, but his words were sturdy, not slurred.

"I'm sorry. Somethin' came up with Eddie so I was with him all night." She felt terrible for lying and throwing Eddie under the bus. If he knew what she had spent the day doing, he'd certainly have a stoke. "Just got in. Ya haven't been up all night waitin' for me, have you?"

Chewing on her long thumbnail, Catherine heard him sleepily grunt, giving her the answer. "The feud on the Sandy Row lit up the other afternoon, so while the peelers are tied with the UDA we've been usin' it to our advantage. Movin' stock from Belfast to over the border with Dessie."

"Wish I was there helpin' youse."

"Me too, a chuisle." Jimmy stopped to yawn before getting back to business. "So, you have no idea how fuckin' lucky ya got. When I reached out to the fellas in Boston, they hadn't put our container on the ship yet, which means they were able to put additional stock in there. You're off the hook for that extra 50k."

A wave of relief washed over her. That was the last time she offered to cut anyone a deal for any reason. "How long do you wanna give SAMCRO to come up with the rest of the cash?"

Jimmy laughed, "Do ya think they'll even be able to come up with the money? From what you and McKeavy've said, it doesn't seem like they're doin' well."

Catherine still wasn't completely comfortable with the idea of pushing SOA out just yet. Finding another buyer who would take on the risks of doing business with them was a crap-shoot. There was more money in the drug trade than weapons. And moving guns came with twice the risk. Even if Jimmy had faith that the Russians would take over SOA's order, who was to say they would be any good at peddling. It was Clay and Jax who had the connections across the northwest; not Viktor Putlova.

She also had a personal bias in the situation. She had already hurt Chibs so much, she didn't want to cause him any more trouble.

"If we give 'em a month, maybe-"

"A week. Ya tell McKeavy those lads have seven days to come up with it and if they don't, we're movin' on."

"Don't ya think we're makin' a deal too early with Putlova? What happens if SAMCRO does come up with the money, Jimmy? If we back out on a deal with the mafiosos', there's a chance the Russian pipeline could dry up."

"None of that'll happen." Jimmy sounded too confident for Catherine's comfort. His tone made her wonder if he had just realized how wrong this could go. "Stop worryin' about nothin'. I just need ya to get some sleep and focus on makin' me proud tomorrow."

Catherine rolled her eyes. Sleep was the last thing on her mind.

* * *

It was early afternoon when she arrived at the Russian mafia compound near the California-Oregon border. Stepping out of the SUV, Catherine straightened out her deep green skirt and fixed the lapels of the matching jacket. Complete with a cream silk blouse and nude pumps, Luke was mildly impressed with her ability to clean up.

"Don't," she scolded, watching Luke grab the Glock from under the driver seat. "The first thing they'll do is search us, and they may take it as a sign of distrust if we're carryin'."

Jimmy never liked the fact Catherine chose to disarm herself when walking into a business meeting for the first time. He understood her reasoning, but he was a very cautious man who hated taking risks with safety.

Luke wasn't pleased with her instruction either. If things went haywire and she ended up hurt or worse, how the hell was he supposed to explain that to Jimmy? He was there for brawn only, leaving Catherine as the brains of the operation. Once upon a time, she would have been insulted by Jimmy's push to send an intimidating man to be by her side. After she was caught in the middle of an exchange gone wrong, she was relieved to have Luke there.

"You trust these Russkis?"

Looking over to the house, Catherine took a deep breath when Putlova and his posse began to spill out on to the porch. This wasn't the first, nor would it be the last, time she's dealt with the Russian mafia. From her experience, there was a formula for making the mafiosos' putty in her hand.

"I just need you to trust me. So please, leave the Glock here."

Hesitantly, Luke did what she said. He shoved the pistol back under the seat and closed the door as she closed hers.

Side-by-side they made their way up the gravel drive. As they approached the house, a short, pudgy man of middle age stepped off the porch. From the photos Jimmy had supplied her with, Catherine recognized him right away.

When she was close enough, Viktor extended his hand, to which she firmly took and smiled warmly at his greeting. When he formally introduced himself, she knew it was time to turn on the charm.

"Ekaterina," Catherine introduced herself, using the Russian derivative of her name.

None of the men had expected a woman with a heavy Belfast brogue to speak with such a flawless Russian inflection. After too much miscommunication with their partners in Moscow, Catherine cracked down and learned the language. It was still a work in progress, but the truth was, she understood and spoke Russian far more fluently than the Irish language.

It was a beautiful day to sit outside. In the backyard, Catherine and Viktor at across from one another at the sturdy oak table. Beside her was Luke. Viktor's muscle surrounded them.

Having so many intimidating men around was nothing more than a power move and Catherine recognized that. He was trying to throw her off her game; make her nervous. What Viktor didn't know was that a long time ago she looked scary right in the eye. Since then, there was very little that could shake her. Burley men with pistols holstered were more of a turn-on and not a deterrent.

"I was under the impression that Clay controlled the distribution. We aren't looking to step on toes or create conflict."

"Aye. SAMCRO does control the trade, but that's only because we supply them with enough stock to do so. In light of new information, we don't feel confident in their ability anymore." Catherine let just enough of the truth slip to hook Viktor. To make this work, she needed the Russians to believe SAMCRO was more vulnerable than they were.

It was a good sign for her when Viktor reached for the vodka decanter and refilled both their glasses. She thanked him, then took a sip. A smooth warmth radiated from her chest.

"If we were to take over distribution, what would be in it for us? Besides the headache."

"Bigger profits than you could ever imagine. SAMCRO charges you over twenty-percent above cost. And for what? A few pieces of hardware from the Motherland. Ya buy wholesale from us, I'll drop it by ten for the next year while your crew makes the transition into selling. Then, it'll max out at eighteen-percent."

"We'll have Clay all over us, trying to gain their territory back."

For Luke, watching Catherine was no different than watching Jimmy negotiate. She straightened in the chair, remaining stoic as to give the illusion that she was about to do them a favor.

"Ten-percent for eighteen months, then it jumps to fifteen."

For a mafia boss, she was surprised Viktor didn't have much of a poker face. She had him hooked and she expected his counter offer.

"Ten-percent for two years. Twelve after."

Catherine wasn't by any means insulted by his seemingly low offer. Viktor was none the wiser that Jimmy had told Catherine to drop it to eight-percent for two years, and then ten subsequently thereafter. It was the same deal Jimmy and McKeavy had worked out with SAMCRO during renegotiations three years ago.

A deal Catherine never felt was fair, considering they were already struggling to make a profit. The money only started rolling in again when she convinced their suppliers in Moscow to drop their rates. Now, they'd have even more wiggle room to start building up their weapons cache again.

"Fair enough. Do we have a deal?"

Viktor gave her a slight head nod and picked up his glass. "Na Zdorovie." _Cheers_. Catherine followed his lead and tossed back her shot of vodka. She realized she was in for a long afternoon when he poured them another. "How, how do you say it in Irish?"

"Sláinte," she said, clinking her glass with his.

With the Russian mafia now on board, Catherine prayed with all her might SAMCRO wouldn't come up with the money.


	43. Emerald Heart

Catherine was in a peaceful state where she straddled the line between sleep and consciousness. Except, it was far from peaceful. Her head pounded, her eyes throbbed. Every muscle and joint ached. It was safe to conclude that she was still slightly drunk.

Tangled in the thin bedsheet with her face smashed into a pillow, Catherine groaned when the knocking at her motel room door wouldn't stop. She popped open one eye and cursed the heavens. The red neon numbers read 5:15 in the morning. It had been less than two hours since Happy dropped her off and she crawled into bed.

Rolling over, Catherine opened the nightstand drawer and withdrew the small pistol Luke had given her when she first arrived in California. This early in the morning, there was no reason for anyone to be knocking at her door unless they were looking for trouble.

After checking to make sure the magazine was loaded and a round was chambered, she flipped off the safety and dragged herself out of bed.

Holding the pistol behind her back, Catherine unbolted the lock but kept the chain secured. Fighting the overwhelming urge to hurl from the countless vodka tonics she had consumed with Happy at a dive-bar in Oakland, she opened the door.

"What in the fuckin' hell do you bellends want?" Her vision was fuzzy through squinted eyes, but no doubt she recognized the five men gathered around her door.

There was Luke, still dressed in the same suit he had worn to the meeting with Putlova. McKeavy was sporting sweatpants and a pullover sweatshirt, while the three other lads wore jeans, t-shirts, and flat-caps. Their stony-faced expressions changed Catherine's attitude mighty fast.

The adrenaline that surged through her body, sobered her up almost instantly. "What's goin' on?"

"We need to come in," answered McKeavy, solemnly.

As quickly as she could, Catherine closed the door so she could unlatch the chain. Her first thought was of her boys, wondering if something happened to them. The only thing keeping her calm was the assurance that Patrick or Jimmy would have reached out to her first if that were the case. They would never have the likes of Luke Moran or Michael McKeavy share that type of news with her.

Catherine kept her cool as she opened the door and let four of the IRA men into her room. She was their superior officer, she had to make them believe that she was collected, or else they would lose faith in her ability to handle her job.

The first thing Luke did was ease the pistol out of her hand, before turning the safety back on and tucking it into the waistband of his trousers. McKeavy flipped on the light on the nightstand, while two of the heavyset men she was only acquainted with, stood guard by the door. The other man stayed outside, smoking a cigarette as he presumably kept an eye out for anyone who wasn't supposed to be sniffing around.

"Okay, seriously," she said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. "What the hell is goin' on? Please tell me Eamonn and Sean are okay."

Luke didn't hesitate, "They're fine. Just a little shaken up."

Catherine felt her heart skip beats. Instantly, the color drained from her face and she felt dizzy. The tingling numbness in her hands warned her of an approaching anxiety attack. If someone didn't start talking, she was sure she would lose her mind.

McKeavy shot Luke a look that said, "are you fucking stupid?" before jumping in to salvage the situation. He rested his lower back against the cheap dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. Catherine was the adjust general of the whole Northern Command. There was no need for him to coddle or sugar coat anything with her—she needed straight facts.

"About four in the morn' Belfast time, there was a massive raid. They hit Andytown, Ballymurphy, Ardoyne-"

Catherine knew where this was going. "I'm guessin' they hit the lower Falls and Short Strand, too. How many arrests?"

"Aye. Word from home is fifteen IRA. About a dozen UVF and a handful of UDA. They picked up your da; Liam too."

Dropping her head for a moment, Catherine ran her hands through her hair. She couldn't even begin to imagine how terrified the boys must have been watching Patrick being dragged away and having the house torn apart by PSNI, as they looked for contraband.

Since moving back to the Falls, Catherine had seen her fair share of raids, but thanks to Ian she had a heads up to make sure the boys were never home when it happened. She always tried the best she could to keep them far away from the consequences of the life she chose. Knowing they were right in the middle of Hell as she was busy drinking with SOA's Unholy One, made Catherine feel like the biggest failure of a mother.

All she could think about was getting home to Eamonn and Sean.

"I want two lads with years to sit with my Ma and the boys until I get back." Catherine pushed down her personal feelings about the situation and got right to work. "Tell Jimmy I'll set up a meetin' for Donny with my source at Musgrave so we can figure out what's goin' on…" She trailed off as McKeavy and Luke glanced at each other. There was a sinking feeling in her gut, telling her it was worse than she initially thought. "Why do I have the feelin' youse aren't tellin' me somethin'?"

Neither of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news, but it had to get out sooner than later. Having known her since she was a little girl, McKeavy decided he'd be the one to _gently_ break the news. "Catherine, I need you to listen very closely to what I'm about to say." Giving her a minute to focus her attention on him, McKeavy then forced the words out of his mouth. "Jimmy and Donny were picked up durin' the raids and transported to Maghaberry a couple'a hours ago."

The way she remained so stoic was worrisome to McKeavy and Luke. They knew this wave calmness was never good, as it meant the gates of Hell were about to come swinging open. Catherine heard what was told to her, but she was having a hard time comprehending what that meant.

All she could think about was how lucky she was to have chosen this week to leave Northern Ireland. If she postponed the trip like she wanted to, she would undoubtedly be sitting in Hydebank at this very moment.

Standing up, she carefully walked over to the armchair where her purse was sitting. Rummaging through it, she grabbed her pack of cigarettes and lit up. As she took a long drag, her next thoughts were of Jimmy.

While the population of incarcerated paramilitaries was far lower since she last visited Maghaberry, Catherine knew well enough that it was still a rough place to be. The tension in Roe House between the IRA men and prison staff was still high and violent. She feared Jimmy would end up in solitary confinement because the guards were afraid the True IRA's chief of staff would encourage even more mutiny.

"Have they been charged?"

McKeavy shook his head. "Not yet. From what Fiona said, Jimmy bein' there may be a ploy to get people talkin'. If he's locked away, they'll feel more comfortable to open their mouths. But Catherine, with Jimmy _and _Donny at Maghaberry, ya do realize what that means, yeah?"

As she brought the cigarette to her mouth for another drag, every man in that room could see her hand visibly shaking. Catherine understood what it meant. She simply chose to ignore the elephant in the room because she wasn't sure she was ready to step into that role.

But like motherhood, she was forced to take it on whether or not she was prepared for it.

"Aye," she nodded.

Eleven years ago, she was a rank and file volunteer. Now, she was provisional chief of staff for the True Irish Republican Army's Northern Command.

Catherine could feel the weight of the responsibilities building on her shoulders. She was doubting her abilities and they all could sense that.

"This is exactly what Jimmy's prepared ya for," Luke assured. "I trust ya. We all do."

McKeavy cleared his throat. "The Kings made it very clear they want ya back in Belfast, so start packin' because your flight leaves in five hours. These fellas'll see to it that ya make it to the airport safely, and Seamus Doherty'll pick ya up from Shannon. I'm still waitin' to hear back on more info. Hopefully, they call before I leave for Oregon with Chibs."

Chibs.

_Mother fuck,_ Catherine thought. He would be asking questions about her sudden departure. Happy, too.

Crushing the cigarette in the green plastic ashtray, she made her first diplomatic decision as chief of staff. "Chibs, or anyone else for that matter, is to not know about what's happened. As far as they're concerned, Jimmy's still runnin' the show."

Unsure of how long Jimmy would be locked up for, Catherine wanted to keep it quiet for as long as possible. Him being in prison may be taken as a sign of implosion by their associates and that was far from the truth. Plus, she wasn't exactly sure how any of them would react to the command change.

They all nodded, fully understanding her concern.

Realizing how much she had to do in such little time, Catherine placed her hands on her hips. "Now, if you gents will please make your way out, I'd like to take a shower."

The men in the flat-caps were the first to leave, followed by Luke. McKeavy stuck around in hopes to calm her nerves by offering some sort of pep-talk. She looked like she needed a confidence booster.

"You okay?" he asked.

Catherine took a seat on the armrest of the chair. She was still in shock and focused more on her boys to even begin to digest the role she had been thrust into. The only thing she could do was shrug her shoulders.

"Honestly? I just wanna see Eamonn and Sean. Right now, they're the only two I'm concerned about. Once I know they're okay, I'll be okay."

He gave her shoulder a firm squeeze. "You'll do a brilliant job. Forget what Luke said; Jimmy taught ya shite. Everythin' ya know came from watchin' Darragh and I'll bet ya twenty-quid that boy is lookin' down with a fat fuckin' smile right now. Ya did it, kid—you're right where he wanted to be. All you need to worry about right now is gettin' your arse back to Belfast because you've got an army to lead."

* * *

After taking a hot shower, Catherine sat on the bed with a towel wrapped around her body, and wet hair clinging to her neck and shoulders. Her ankles were crossed, her hands resting on her lap; fingers laced.

Though the television was on with the morning news humming lowly in the background, Catherine managed to block the outside world from any one of her thoughts.

She had spent the last seven minutes mumbling Hail Mary's, desperately pleading for the courage and strength required to take command of the IRA. Never in a million years did Catherine think she'd end up here. The fact of the matter was it all happened by chance. In her mind, she hadn't truly earned it and she grappled with what she should do.

On one hand, she wanted to take the coward's way out and suggest to the Kings someone more qualified takeover. On the other, she wanted to tackle it all head-on, and with a smile, nonetheless. Not simply because she sought to have the same power Jimmy did, but rather because she knew McKeavy was right.

Her eyes welling with tears of horrible uncertainty, she rubbed her thumbs together. The tight knot in her throat made it painful to speak.

"C'mon, Darragh. Please…please just give me any little sign on what I should do. You've never led me in the wrong direction before, please don't leave me hangin' when I need you more than ever."

Nothing.

Defeated, Catherine hung her head. She slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her sniveling cries.

Quickly pulling herself together, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and stood up. Grabbing a cigarette from the pack on the dresser, she realized her lighter was dead. Tossing it into the trash, she kept the cigarette tucked into the corner of her mouth as she began digging through her purse for another one.

"Son-of-a-bitch," she groaned.

Growing beyond frustrated that she couldn't find one, Catherine let her emotions get the best of her. When that bubble of irritation finally exploded, she let impulsivity take over and dumped the contents of her purse into a pile on the bed.

Throwing the Coach bag over her shoulder, Catherine spread everything out, eventually finding the cheap green Bic lighter.

Taking that first drag, she started to relax once the nicotine buzz hit. She snatched her bag off the floor to start putting everything back. Her checkbook, wallet, fraudulent American and Irish passports. When she picked up her keys, that's when Catherine's entire world came to a screeching halt.

She untangled the necklace that was dangling from the key ring. It was a necklace she thought she lost over a month ago.

It was the sign she asked for.

_Lying in bed with Catherine tucked against his side, Darragh blew smoke rings into the air. He melted under her touch, soaking in the warmth of her lips as she kissed his bare chest. With his free hand, he raked his fingers through her silky copper waves. The beauty she possessed never ceased to amaze him. _

"_I know we said no gifts this year, but I saw this and couldn't help me'self." Stubbing out the cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, Darragh nudged Catherine out of the way so he could roll over and dig through his duffle bag. _

_She tried to protest, saying Valentine's Day weekend in Donegal without Eamonn was more than enough. But, he quickly shut her up when he rolled back over, popping open a black velvet box._

_It was a simple emerald heart pendant and silver chain necklace._

"_Jesus," she said, breathlessly. _

_Darragh removed the necklace from the box, asking nervously, "Ya like it?" _

"_Like it? I bloody love it. It's gorgeous." _

_He gestured for her to turn around so he could secure it around her neck. When he was done, he kissed her shoulder. "It's not as gorgeous as you, my love. Now, it's not a real stone or anything. I'll be able to get ya a real nice one when I become a senior OC." _

_Rubbing the emerald heart between her index finger and thumb, Catherine turned around and pounced. Tackling Darragh onto the mattress, she straddled his hips, capturing his mouth for a deeply heated kiss._

"_I don't care of you're bloody chief of staff and can afford to buy me a million real emeralds. All I want is you and about a dozen of your babies."_

_Pushing himself up onto his elbows, Darragh couldn't help himself from stealing another kiss from her. He knew those words were genuine. A big, happy family with her was all he wanted, too. Nevertheless, since she left the Ra, Darragh knew Catherine was apprehensive about him climbing any higher on the officer ladder. _

"_If I became chief of staff," he paused, almost embarrassed to be asking this question, "Would you be proud of me? I could never do it without ya by me side." _

_It utterly broke Catherine's heart to see the sheen of desperation glossing Darragh's eyes. She wondered if her decision to step back had him questioning his future. Cupping his face in her hands, Catherine ran her thumb along his red, swollen lips. "Of course I'd be proud of ya. If that's what you want, I'll be right there with ya every step of the way." _

Holding the necklace tightly in her hand, Catherine kissed the emerald pendant. She moved her damp hair over one shoulder and locked the chain around her neck.

"I'll make you proud, Darragh," she whispered. "I promise."


	44. Big Mouth

**Oakland, California**

Happy got to the diner as fast as humanly possible. By the strain in her voice, he could tell something was off with Catherine and he was anxious to find out why. So, as he hopped off his bike in the parking lot, he practically sprinted inside.

Considering it wasn't even seven o'clock in the morning yet and the place was pretty dead, it wasn't hard for Happy to spot her. As he approached the table, Catherine set down her menu and stood. She flashed him a radiant smile before wrapping her arms around his neck for a welcoming hug. He followed the gesture, curling his arms around her sides. Taking a breath, he was swimming thanks to the sweet, romantic notes of her rose and vanilla perfume.

"I appreciate ya meetin' me here on such short notice. And so bloody early."

As they slid into their respective sides of the booth, Happy took notice to how Catherine seemed to be in business mode. She also looked extremely exhausted and stressed, despite the concealer and heavy foundation attempting to hide the purple circles under her eyes.

Happy turned his coffee mug right-side-up so the waitress could fill it when she made her rounds again. "You sounded off on the phone. Everything okay?"

He didn't like her hesitation or the way she rolled her lower lip between her teeth. Crossing her arms on the table, Catherine wondered just how truthful she could be with him. Ever since Chibs planted the seed of doubt with Liam, she was struggling with who she could trust. Her gut was telling her she could trust Happy.

"I know we planned on spendin' the day together, and I wanted to tell you this in person so you didn't think I'm full'a shite. But somethin' happened, and I have to go back to Belfast. My flight leaves in a couple'a hours." For as stoic of a man as Happy was, Catherine could see he was disappointed. He seemed so excited last night when they planned to ride out to the beach and spend the day in the water, soaking up the sun. Reaching her hand out, she placed it on top of his. "Please understand this wasn't my decision. I'm under orders to return."

Happy understood, but that didn't mean he wasn't furiously annoyed, disappointed. Maybe even a little upset. He was frustrated with himself for having gotten his hopes up in actually being able to spend time with her. This was why it would never work, Happy reminded himself. Catherine had a demanding life in Northern Ireland and it was stopping them from getting to know each other on a platonic level. Not that they'd be friends, anyway. They may have shared the outlaw lifestyle, but they were living in two different worlds.

She was utterly crushed when Happy moved his hand out from under hers.

"Your kids okay?"

"Aye," she nodded. "My Da and eldest brother were arrested last night, so the council wants me home." Looking at her watch, Catherine was saddened to see she had to get going to the airport. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a folded slip of paper and handed it to him. "Please make sure this gets to my Uncle?"

Happy tucked it into the inside pocket of his kutte. "I will."

After thanking him, she stood up. Catherine wasn't ready for this goodbye. "You should hop the pond and come see the Emerald Isle. I'm sure SAMBEL wouldn't mind playin' host."

"I'll see what I can do, kid." Getting out of the booth, Happy pulled her in for a hug. "Travel safe. Hopefully, it won't be six years until I see you again."

Just as it bothered Catherine when Happy took his hand away from hers, it bothered him that she didn't acknowledge his latter words. Pulling away from the hug, Catherine patted the patches on the right side of his chest and simply told him to take care.

He watched apathetically as she walked out of the diner. From the giant front window, his eyes never once left Catherine as she crossed the parking lot to the blacked-out SUV that was waiting. An Irishman jumped out of the front seat and opened the back door for her. Once she was inside and the SUV took off, Happy could shake the feeling that her life was about to dramatically change.

* * *

**Short Strand - east Belfast, Northern Ireland **

It was nearly three o'clock by the time Fiona finished cleaning up the wreck left behind by the PSNI. She refused to allow the madness to drive her down a road of loathing and instead used the opportunity to do a much-needed de-clutter. Half the stuff that had been thrown from the bookshelf and the cabinets, Fiona didn't know she had. Plus, scrubbing the floor and baseboards was a good activity that kept her mind off the fact Jimmy was currently sitting in a prison cell.

Throwing the scrub brush into the bucket of murky, soapy water, Fiona peeled off the thick yellow gloves and stood. Her knees ached like no-tomorrow. Surely they would be bruised before the sun rose in the morning. Grabbing the handle of the bucket, she wiped a sheen of sweat off her forehead as she hauled it into the kitchen.

Pouring the water down the sink, she looked around to inspect Kerrianne's work. Her daughter had taken charge of cleaning every nook and cranny and much to Fiona's delight, it was sparkling.

After washing her hands, she took a moment to rest, but she refused to allow herself to think. Nothing ever good came of it when she did.

There was still one mess awaiting her upstairs and if she planned on finishing at a reasonable hour, she had to tackle it now. Grabbing the lemon-scented furniture polish, glass cleaner, and ratty cloth, Fiona trekked up the stairs.

From Kerrianne's room, she could hear music pouring out from the cracked door. The day had taken its toll on the teenager. By how composed Kerrianne had kept herself through it all made Fiona one proud momma. Even amid the officers harassing her, Kerrianne never once folded and showed disrespect. Nor made Fiona feel as though this was all her doing, as the life they lived was the direct result of a series of bad decisions made on her part.

She decided she'd surprise Kerri and yank her out of school early on Friday, then take her to Dublin for the weekend after visiting Jimmy.

With her elbow, Fiona pushed open her daughter's bedroom door. She looked up from the magazine she had been flipping through, politely asking what the intrusion was all about.

"Turn off that music and go wait downstairs, please; Auntie Liv should be here soon with Brien and the wee boys."

Kerri huffed and got up to shut off the stereo. Socializing was the last thing she wanted to do, but she'd do it if it made her mom happy. Without another word, she grabbed her magazine and headed downstairs.

Shaking her head at the teenage attitude, Fiona turned around. She stood in the doorway of Jimmy's office, thankful the mess wasn't as bad as it could've been.

The bookshelf had been completely emptied. Every drawer in the desk had been dumped out on to the floor. The safe had somehow been pried open, and the cushion of the armchair was sliced.

It brought a small smile of satisfaction to Fiona's face when she remembered just how vexed the officers had been when they didn't find a single shred of incriminating evidence. She took it as an insult the PSNI thought she and Jimmy would be stupid enough to keep the cash, fraudulent passports and driving licenses they were searching for in the house.

They were stashed away south of the border, in a safety deposit box under Fiona's late grandmother's name.

Setting the cleaning supplies on the desk, she started there first. It didn't take long to put the drawers back into the place, and she simply tossed the stuff at random back inside. Jimmy could reorganize it all when he was released. Next, she put everything back in the safe, then moved on to the bookshelf. Most of the pictures had been knocked off the wall during the raid, so she picked them up to rehang.

She wiped off the dusty glass and smiled at the first photo. It was of a very young Kerrianne, sitting on Jimmy's lap as he blew out the candles on his 35th birthday cake. Then there was another of her and Jimmy at a rugby match with Patrick and the three O'Toole siblings. More of Kerrianne growing throughout the years.

Of course, there was Catherine's first Communion, and her graduation from St. Dominic's.

Holding the frame of Catherine clutching her diploma and one arm wrapped around Jimmy, Fiona noticed something was off about that photo. She tilted it more towards the light. Something was pushing the corner of the photo out. Flipping it around, Fiona unlatched the clasps and removed the cardboard backing, finding the culprit of the bulge.

It was a yellowing envelope, folded in half.

Maneuvering to sit down in the desk chair, Fiona set the pieces of the frame on the floor before unfolding the envelope.

"Mother'a Christ," she said, removing a stack of Polaroids.

There she was—Catherine sitting at a bar beside Dessie Dennehy. Her elbows propped up on the countertop with her chin resting on her knuckles, smiling at the camera. She was young.

Grabbing the photo that was inside the frame, Fiona compared the two images. She looked no older than her graduation photo, which meant the Polaroid must have been taken when she was training in Crossmaglen.

Catherine and Jimmy had been together for less than a year at that point, and Fiona was none the wiser to what was going on right under her nose. No one was. She could remember being at IRA barbecues in Dundalk, where some of the lads would tease Catherine about her infatuation for Jimmy. But with how Catherine responded to them, Fiona didn't suspect it had gone further than a childish crush. There was a deep-rooted history between those two and no one would ever know their true story.

She continued flipping through the photos. They were mostly of Catherine hanging out and drinking with the boys from Crossmaglen.

It was the next photo that made Fiona's jaw drop and her stomach turn.

Sprawled out on her back in an unrecognizable bed, propped up on her elbows, fully naked with her legs spread wide open, was, of course, Catherine. That sultry smile, those darkened eyes, she clearly felt comfortable with her photographer.

Quickly, she moved on the next one. But it was even more vulgar than the former, though it was far less nudity.

Catherine's back was pressed flush against Jimmy's chest and she had one hand resting on the back of his neck. Jimmy looked ungodly younger, too. His dark brown hair was much longer and fuller, his face was tight, his bottom lip clamped between his teeth. Through hooded eyes, he was looking at Catherine with more than just lust. It was a raw deep affection.

To Fiona, Jimmy looked like a pathetic lovesick teenager.

By the angle of which the photo was taken, it was impossible to see anything further south of Catherine's bare left breast. With her mouth agape, accompanied by the blush on her cheeks, neck, and chest, it was obvious Catherine snapped it while Jimmy was in the middle of fucking her.

No, that wasn't fucking. The way those two were staring at one another, they were in love.

Slamming the photos facedown on the desk, a blazing, ugly jealously wrapped its claws around Fiona. She didn't envy Catherine in the slightest—her life had turned into the biggest train wreck anyone in Belfast had ever seen.

She was jealous of Jimmy.

She couldn't even begin to count the number of times that insufferable prick had fucked up. He endlessly brought misery to the people in his life, and hurt them beyond repair along the way. And how was he punished? By God giving him everything he ever wanted in life. A beautiful and loyal woman, who was eighteen-fucking-years younger than him, loved his sorry ass beyond all comprehension. He had a biological son who was bright and well-mannered. He made a pretty penny as a career criminal.

Yeah, that was fair, Fiona thought. Real fucking fair.

That asshole had everything, and she lost it all.

"Ma!" Hearing Kerrianne call for her, Fiona scrambled to get the Polaroid's back into the envelope. Just as her daughter popped her head through the open doorway, she tucked the envelope into the back pocket of her jeans. "Auntie Liv is here. She brought pizza, too."

"I'll be down in a minute," she said, smiling.

"Don't take too long. Bri's already diggin' into the pizza and ya know that boy can eat."

Fiona chuckled at Kerrianne's warning and assured her she'd right down. Once Kerrianne was downstairs, she headed into her bedroom. Pulling the photos from her pocket, she stashed them at the bottom of her underwear drawer. Sooner or later, they'd be useful.

Down in the living room, Fiona first stopped to say hello to Eamonn and Sean. Knelling down to their level, she opened her arms for hugs. They dropped their slices of pizza onto the plates, darting right to her. After such a rough day, it was a blessing to have those boys in her arms.

It bothered Fiona for a long time that Eamonn was Jimmy's son, but once she stopped denying the truth and learned to accept it, that boy managed to find a special place in her heart. Smothering their chubby cheeks with kisses, Fiona was happy they seemed rather composed after the morning antics.

"How are you boys doin?" she asked.

Eamonn pushed his ginger hair off his forehead, and he looked at her with light blue eyes. "Gran let us stay home from school, and we spent the day with Uncle Brien-"

"Yeah, and, and he even let us help him fix his motorcycle!" Sean interrupted, excitedly. Then he looked around, an honest curiosity filling him. "Where's Jimmy? Can he take us to the park to play football like yesterday? That was so fun."

Fiona took a sharp breath. She wasn't sure what Oliva had told them about Patrick's arrest, so she decided to play it off, keep it simple and vague.

"Jimmy's not here, lovey. He had to go on a wee trip for work."

"Is he with Mammy?" Eamonn asked. "I got to talk to her today and she said she's comin' home!"

Why did they have to ask so many questions?

"I'm not sure when he'll be home, but I promise when he is, he'll take you, boys, to play football."

The way Eamonn's face fell into visible melancholy, reminded Fiona all too much of Catherine when Chibs had to break the news to her about Patrick's numerous arrests. But the way he furrowed his brow and pursed his lips, that was all Jimmy.

The boys seemingly accepted her answer and they went back to eating and watching cartoons.

In the kitchen, Fiona was greeted by an exhausted Olivia. Her sister-in-law had spent the day putting not only her shambled home back together, but Catherine's, too. She also played a game of phone-tag with Patrick's lawyer, all the while trying to keep tabs on Liam. Olivia was lucky in the sense that her husband and son had yet to be moved from Musgrave, which filled her with some hope. As long as they were there, it was nothing more than routine questioning. However, with Jimmy and Donny at Maghaberry, she was worried sick that Catherine would be picked up by the Gardaí the moment she stepped foot on Irish soil.

After Catherine heard the news, she rang home. When she spoke with Olivia and Brien, neither had the heart to tell her Darragh's rosary—which she kept dangling from one of the posts of her headboard—had broken during the search.

Between the internment of nearly every man she loved and the snapped rosary, they feared Catherine would snap.

"Ya hear from Jimmy's solicitor yet?" Olivia asked, handing Fiona a much-deserved glass of whiskey.

She nodded as she took a sizable sip. She welcomed the burn to the back of her throat. "Aye. They've only charged him with IRA membership at this point, and O'Shea told me that's only because they wanted a reason to move him down to Lisburn. If no one talks, the charges should be dropped in a couple'a days…they've nothin' concrete on that charge."

"Someone's gotta be talkin'," Brien added, with a mouthful of pizza. "Da only went active again, what? Two months ago? If they didn't have reliable,_ new_ information, they never would'a picked up Da durin' this raid."

A tensioned silence blanketed the room. No one wanted to acknowledge the fact Brien was right. So, Olivia tried shifting the conversation.

"Let me know when you go to visit Jimmy. I've got a wee stack of books you can bring so he doesn't die of boredom before he gets out."

After finding the Polaroids of him and Catherine, the last thing Fiona wanted was to see him. Nonetheless, she had to save face and pretend everything was fine. "I'm bringin' Kerri up on Friday."

"Do I have to go?" she groaned. "I hate gettin' searched and the screws weird me out. Take Eamonn instead; Jimmy'd be more excited to him anyway."

Brien snorted and reached for another slice of pizza. "Catherine'll just love that. She doesn't even want Eamonn to know that Jimmy's his da, so she'll fuckin' go mental if she finds out any of us brought him to Maghaberry."

No one had taken notice of the small human waltzing into the kitchen in search of more food. When Brien saw that tiny hand reach over the table beside him, he just about had a heart attack. Swallowing hard, Brien turned his head to see Sean—a kid with the biggest mouth—standing there, a slice of pizza in his hands. He cocked his head to the side and looked at his uncle quizzically.

"If Jimmy's our da, then why does Mammy tell us our daddy's name is Darragh?"

Brien had no idea how to handle that question, and without thinking, he once again opened his big mouth. He stumbled on his answer, "Well, Darragh is your daddy-"

"And Jimmy is Eamonn's?"

"Technically, yeah, but-"

"Jesus Christ, Brien, shut up!" Olivia reached across the table and rightfully smacked the back of her son's head.

Kerrianne slapped a hand over her mouth to keep from laughing, and both Olivia and Fiona looked as though their heads were about to explode.

Easing out of the chair, Brien knelt to Sean's level and placed his hands on the boy's shoulders. "Sean, you can not, I mean never ever, tell that to your brother. Or your ma."

Sean nodded, but obviously didn't take his uncle seriously, because the second Brien let him go, Sean bolted back into the living room yelling to his brother. "Eamonn, guess what? Uncle Brien said Jimmy's our daddy!"

Jumping to his feet, Brien ran his fingers through his shaggy hair and rested his hands on the top of his head. He bounced on the balls of his feet, in complete shock that he just spilled the family's dirty secret. With Catherine on her way back to Belfast, he knew he probably only had hours left to live.

"Holy shite…holy fuck! I cannot believe I just did that! Caitie's gonna fuckin' kill me, isn't she, Ma?"

Olivia calmly sat down. Fiona handed over her glass of whiskey. After knocking the rest of it back, Olivia looked her son square in the eye and shook her head. "She won't have the chance to. Because I'm gonna put ya in a wee plot in the backyard first."


	45. Welcome Home

Catherine pulled the hood of her waterproof coat over her head, dashing across the street to the idle car waiting at the curb. Sliding into the backseat behind the passenger, she welcomed the warm air blowing through the vents.

"How was your flight?"

Wiping the droplets of rain off her glasses, she then shook her long hair free from under the hood. She didn't bother looking at Galen O'Shay, who sat stoically beside her. "No complaints. Feels good to be home, so it does."

"How did it go with Putlova?" Declan didn't waste time with mundane conversation; he had bigger things to worry about.

"Just as expected," she answered, turning her attention to the man in the driver's seat. "Putlova agreed to ten-percent for two years, then a jump to fifteen. Jimmy said to give SAMCRO only a week to come up with the cash, but I'm hopin' with him...tied up at the moment, that'll give 'em a wee bit longer. I knocked 50-grand off the price to help ease the burden because we can easily find money elsewhere. McKeavy said he'll give youse a bell if they don't come up with it."

"Aye," the three Kings said in unison.

Peter looked at Catherine through the rearview mirror. "Have ya heard anythin' more from Dessie?"

"No. Not since I sat down with him and Jimmy after meetin' with the Real army lads in Dundalk. With so many of our fellas in the cages right now, I'm gonna reach out to Mickey in Derry, and ask if any of 'em would be interested in movin' over to work with us."

"You sure you can trust 'em?" Galen mused.

This time, Catherine turned her head and looked him square in the eye. "With all due respect, after everythin' that's gone down in the last year, I trust Mickey Ryan and his judgment more than I trust our fellas. None of youse had any idea Jimmy's plannin' to push SAMCRO out and usher in an entirely new generation."

The humid Ford filled with suffocating tension. Galen balled his hand into a tight fist and rolled his neck from side-to-side, in hopes of relaxing the kinks in his muscles. He tried his best to swallow the verbal outburst that threatened to escape. It wasn't the acting chief of staff he felt any ill-will towards; it was the man who formally held the position, who had no idea what kind of hole he was digging for himself. Still, it didn't change the fact he didn't appreciate her pointing out their obvious failures.

She didn't mean for her words to come out as hostile as they did. Nevertheless, she didn't regret a single word of it. Catherine was fed up with how the True army was operating. At this point, if the Real army approached her she wasn't entirely sure she'd tell them to bugger off.

"How close are ya with Jimmy?" Peter asked. "Are youse still…"

"Shaggin'?" Catherine met his gaze in the rearview mirror. She wanted to roll her eyes at him, but that was too much a show of disrespect, even for someone she felt little respect for. "I'm not. Jimmy and I haven't been, _together, _since before I found out I was pregnant with Eamonn."

Galen, Peter, and Declan exchanged glances with one another. It was as if they were trying to figure out who would speak next. As she watched them suspiciously, Catherine's stomach dropped and her heart began to race. That inner voice in the back of her head screamed that something was up.

She looked down at her hands, which were resting in her lap. Regardless of the unease consuming her, Catherine kept her voice strong and steady. "Why do I feel like I'm not being told somethin?"

"Catherine?"

Instantly, she looked up at Galen. When those big blue eyes of hers blinked at him, Galen tensed. He could remember what she looked like nearly six years ago when he saw her at the safe in the Republic, her neck covered in bruises.

Bruises, which came courtesy of Jimmy O'Phelan.

Galan cleared his throat, "This isn't easy for us to ask, but we need ya to get close to him again."

The color drained from her face, and despite the warm air blowing on her, Catherine began shivering. She squeezed her eyes shut, cocking her head to the side, wondering if she heard him correctly. Her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton.

"Are you…you're askin' me to have another affair with him, aren't ya?"

"You're the only one he trusts to talk to," argued Peter.

"We need ya to keep him close; keep him talkin'. If he gets the slightest feelin' that we know what's goin' on, he'll only get more slippery," Declan added.

Catherine licked her lips and took a deep breath. Falling back into bed with Jimmy was the last thing she ever wanted to do.

"And if I don't?"

Galen reached down and grabbed the hunting knife he kept strapped to his calf. He set it down between him and Catherine. The warning was clear.

"I fuckin' came to youse the day after I found out what's goin' on. Now ya wanna threaten me—"

Galen cut her off. "Two lads were each sentenced to eleven years after they were pulled over at the border with loaded mortar tubes, meant for an operation you planned. Now, assumin' my intel is correct, it just so happens ya were shaggin' a peeler around the same time. It seems to be quite a coincidence, yeah?"

Catherine's cheeks burned brighter than a strand of Christmas lights. If the Irish Kings knew about her affair with Ian, God only knew who else was privy to that information. She should have known sooner or later it would come back to bite her in the ass.

The Kings were well aware that the arrests of those lads happened because of their stupidity, and it was against her nature to tout. But they needed leverage—this was all they had on her.

"Who told you?"

Declan broke the silence. "Jimmy."

Instead of bursting into tears, Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose and started to laugh.

After seventeen hours of traveling, all she wanted was to see her boys, then try to catch up on sleep. Rather, this was the bullshit she raced home to deal with.

With that now hanging over her head, she knew she had no other option but to give in to what the Kings wanted. She did it to herself. Her loyalty to the cause was greater than her loyalty to Jimmy, which was why she had told them of Jimmy's plan in the first place.

Right about now, she wasn't feeling much loyalty to either of them.

"Of course he did." Twisting her hair into a loose bun, Catherine popped her hood back up. She opened the car door and placed one foot on the soaked pavement. "After I make it out to Maghaberry to see Jimmy, I'll meet youse in Donegal so we can figure out where to go from there."

Peter stopped her before she could jump out of the car. "It's unfortunate circumstances, but congratulations on the wee promotion. Godspeed, Catherine."

After giving Peter a weak smile, Catherine dashed back inside to wait for Eamonn and Sean to finish school.

* * *

"Close your eyes and hold your breath," she said, dunking the plastic cup into the soapy bathwater.

Eamonn did just that; his little fingers curling around the edge of the tub. As Catherine poured the water over his head clearing the suds from his hair, she choked on her laughter. He was making the same silly face Jimmy made when he was visibly uncomfortable.

"Alright, you're all done."

With the backs of his hands, Eamonn wiped the water from his eyes and stood up. Catherine pulled the plug to drain the tub before grabbing the towel off the counter. Eamonn's lighthearted giggle as she wrapped him the towel and picked him up was music to her ears. There were absolutely no words which could describe how much she missed her boys. Now that she was home, Catherine never wanted to leave.

Bringing Eamonn into the bedroom he shared with Sean, she set him down on his feet so she could dig through the dresser for underwear and a pair of pajamas.

Kneeling, Catherine let Eamonn use her for balance as she helped him step into his underwear. "Uncle Brien's gonna take you and Sean to the rugby match on Saturday."

"You're not takin' us?"

"I can't, a chuisle." The strain in Eamonn's voice broke her heart. It killed her she had to back out of the Ulster Rugby match she promised she'd take them to, but she was desperate to get to Maghaberry. "I have to go see Jimmy and I won't be back in time."

Something she said flipped a switch in Eamonn and she wasn't sure what it was. He took a step back, just looking at her as if searching for the words to say. Much to Catherine's dismay sometimes, he was a very inquisitive child.

"I don't wanna go with Uncle Brien, I wanna go with you to see Jimmy."

Catherine shook her head, as she reached for the long-sleeved shirt. "No, you're not comin' with me."

"Why?" he wondered, refusing to put the shirt on.

"Because you're not." She wasn't in the mood to fight with him, especially when he was just as tired and cranky as she. It didn't matter how many times he asked, she would give him the same vague answer. No way was she telling him he couldn't go because Jimmy's current residence was Northern Ireland's maximum prison. "Now please, Eamonn, put on your jammies so I can go lay down."

Snatching the top from Catherine with an attitude, the jaded five-year-old begrudgingly put it on. As he pulled it over his belly, he dropped a bomb she didn't see coming.

"But I wanna go see Daddy."

Catherine stopped mid-yawn, jerking her head to look at Eamonn. "What did you just say?"

"I wanna go with you to see Daddy."

"I'm not goin' to see Daddy," she snapped, her stomach twisting. Her heart was pounding so fast she was sure Eamonn could hear it. "I'm seein' Jimmy."

Eamonn looked at his mother as if she had two heads. Matter-of-factly, he said, "Jimmy's my daddy."

Squishing his cheeks between her index finger and thumb, Catherine turned Eamonn's head so he was looking at her. For a moment they stared at one another. She was searching his eyes for any hints that he was just being a smartass. When she found no such hint, bile burned the back of her throat and her eyes stung with tears.

She was hoping this was some sick joke the universe was playing on her, but it wasn't.

In a matter of only nanoseconds, Catherine had to compose herself. The boiling anger which coursed through her veins had nothing to do with Eamonn and she wasn't going to take it out on him. Though she managed to swallow the indignation, she couldn't stop the shakiness in her voice.

"Who-who told you that? Who told you Jimmy's your da?"

"Sean did-"

Before Eamonn could say another word, Catherine jumped to her feet and dashed to her bedroom. Snuggled up in the thick duvet, half-asleep while watching television, she flung the blanket off him.

Leaning down, Catherine rested her palms on either side of Sean. "Who told ya Jimmy's Eamonn's da?"

He slowly blinked those blue-gray eyes, trying to comprehend the question asked of him. She didn't want to come off as threatening, but when she asked the question again, the sternness in her tone woke Sean up.

"Uncle Brien said Jimmy's our daddy."

_Our. Our daddy._

Right then and there, Catherine's world came to halt. And for the third time in her life, she fell flat on her face. She had no idea what to think or how to feel. She had no idea how to handle the words that were uttered by her four-year-old.

Clenching the emerald heart pendant hanging from the chain around her neck, it was white-hot in her palm. The painful lump in her throat bobbed as each stuttered gulp of air tore down her closing windpipe. A furious storm was ravaging her mind, making it nearly impossible for her to think clearly.

This wasn't supposed to happen, she shouted to herself. Eamonn was never supposed to find out. And to make it all worse, now Sean was convinced Jimmy was his father, too.

In Catherine's eyes, Darragh was their father no matter what the genetics said. He was the one who held her hand through the long and difficult delivery with Eamonn. He was the one who worked almost nonstop to make sure they were provided for. He was the one who gave nighttime baths, he even read to Eamonn every night.

The last thing she wanted was for her boys to grow up without even the slightest regard for the amazing man who had left them far too soon.

"What's wrong, Mammy?" Sean propped himself up so his knees were digging into the mattress. By the way Catherine looked visibly distressed, and how she was backing out the room, it worried him.

Instead of responding to him, Catherine bolted across the hall to the bathroom. She closed and locked the door behind her, collapsing against it. Sliding down, she ended up on the floor. Her knees and forearms supporting her weight, she beat the cold tiles with the side of her hand. Hissing a breath through her clenched teeth, all of her strength suddenly vanished. She balled up the damp towel on the floor and shoved her face into it, letting out a scream. It left her throat raw.

Never before had she so badly wanted to beat the life out of her brother. He knew just how damaging that news would be Eamonn and Sean, and he disregarded all of her pleadings for him to keep his mouth shut. Brien could tell her a thousand times over that it was an accident, and Catherine wouldn't care. For him, it may have been something to joke about. But for her, it was the one thing that brought unimaginable shame to her life.

Tiny hands knocking against the locked door dragged Catherine from what felt like a ninth circle of Hell. She had to pull herself together for their sake—they hadn't done anything wrong. There was no reason for them to see her upset.

"Mammy!" shouted Eamonn.

She tried the best she could to hide her ragged breathing to no avail. Her words came out choppy, laced with agony. "I'll be right out. Take your brother downstairs and pick out a movie for us to watch."

Slowly getting back on her feet, Catherine staggered over to the sink. She turned on the taps and splashed her face with cold water. Much to her displeasure, she looked terrible—puffy, bloodshot eyes. Black streaks ran down her cheeks from the eyeliner and mascara.

She scrubbed her face clean and patted it dry. As she hugged the towel against her chest, Catherine tried to formulate a plan on how to talk to them about it.

As badly as she wanted to pretend it didn't happen and go about life as normal, Catherine understood that wasn't an option anymore.

All thanks to her brother, and the Irish Kings who wanted her to bring Jimmy fully back into her life.

Staring at herself in the mirror, Catherine whispered, "Welcome home."


	46. Tout

Jumping off the bench, Brien sprinted straight into the SAMBEL clubhouse. Catherine was hot on his heels and he swore he saw steam exploding from her ears. She had every right to be upset with him, but he was hoping she'd be home longer than a day before the boys brought up his lip-slip.

With only the billiards table separating them, Brien tried to catch his breath. A crowd of leather and denim-clad Sons gathered to see what the commotion was about.

"I just wanna talk to you, Bri." Catherine also breathed heavily, thanks to her nearly pack-a-day smoking habit.

"Not a chance," he objected. "Not when you're angry."

"I am not angry. I'm perfectly calm."

Brien snorted, bouncing on his feet. He had to be ready to start running again. He'd seen this type of calm in Catherine before—this was how she reacted when her level of angry broke the gauge. Nor was she the kind of angry where she'd just beat his ass and then call it day. There was no missing the murderous glint that sparkled in those sapphire iris'.

He was a dead man walking.

"I swear to God it was an accident. You gotta believe me; I was spoutin' my mouth off to Kerrianne and I had no bloody idea Sean was right there. He's so fuckin' stealthy, so he is."

Catherine slammed her hand on the green-felt top of the billiards table. "That's your problem! Ya never know when to shut that fuckin' gob of yours. Do you have any idea what you've done? It's not Eamonn I'm fuckin' tryin' to protect, it's Sean!" Catherine ran her hands through her hair, not bothering to stop the tears. They sliced her cheeks like hot scalpels. "It's not fair that Sean has to live without Darragh."

Brien hadn't seen Catherine fall apart over Darragh since the funeral, but it's obvious how badly she was still struggling. A dull ache filled his chest. It wasn't fair to herself or her boys to keep holding on to the grief for this long. She needed to move on, and this point Brien was desperate to pull his sister into the present.

Rounding the side of the table where Catherine was standing, Brien wasted no time wrapping his arms around her. As her face pressed against his chest, he shoo'd his brothers away to preserve some of her dignity. They didn't need to see this.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered, pressing his cheek to the top of her head.

Catherine held a white knuckle grip on the collar of his kutte.

The weight of the last several days was crushing her. It was only exasperated earlier that morning when Ian confirmed her worst nightmare. Jimmy, Patrick, Donny, and twelve other lads had been locked up because Liam informed the PSNI they were moving weapons from Hannahstown to Dundalk.

She wanted to tell Brien what their brother was up to, but Army business was Army business.

Brien picked Catherine's head off his chest, cupping her jaw in his hands. Like so many times before, he wiped away her tears with the calloused pads of his thumbs.

"I feel like the biggest arse in the world for what I did, because it wasn't my place to say anythin'. Tellin' Eamonn should have been up to you and Jimmy, I get that. But its been a long time, Catherine, and the two of youse need to figure your shite out. You can go ahead and hate me for this, but think about what kind of damage it would'a done to him if he wasn't told soon."

"But what about Sean? He'll-"

Brien cut her off. "Christ, stop worryin' about Sean, will ya? Just like his ol' man, the wee fecker is resilient. Look, Jimmy is the biggest prick on the face of this Earth, but for some reason you three are the only ones he's capable of feelin' any sort of normal human emotion for. He loves you, he loves Eamonn, and if ya give him the chance, he'll love Sean."

Catherine opened her mouth to interrupt, but Brien simply covered it with his hand. "I'm not sayin' completely erase Darragh—he was a good lad who treated ya well. What I'm sayin' is, let Sean have whatever kind of relationship he wants with Jimmy. Just like Eamonn, he needs a da, too."

Feeling better now that he got that off his chest, he dropped his hand. Catherine cocked her head to the side, placing her hands on her hips. She pouted like a child.

"I hate when you're right," she huffed.

"I know."

"And, I hate you."

Brien rolled his eye. "Believe me, I know."

* * *

**HMP Maghaberry - Lisburn, Northern Ireland **

When the steel, airlock door opened, she stood immediately looking for Jimmy. The biggest smile spread across her mouth when she finally spotted him.

He was dressed in Wrangler jeans and a sand-colored sweater. Of course, his black boots were pristine and shined. Catherine couldn't remember the last time she saw him wearing such casual clothes.

Unlike her, Jimmy refused to show much emotion around the guards and other prisoners. That didn't change the fact he was all but jumping for joy on the inside to finally see Catherine. Fiona had visited without Kerrianne the day prior and her attitude soured his mood for the rest of the day.

Seeing that radiant smile of hers was enough to brighten his spirits.

Once the guard released the cuffs, Jimmy made a bee-line to Catherine. He wrapped her tight in his arms, with her head resting on his chest. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing deeply. The notes of her coconut curl butter were euphoric, reminding him of home.

"Holy shite, I've fuckin' missed ya," he mumbled.

Catherine curled her fingers into the cotton of his sweater, never wanting to let go. "I've missed you, too."

Jimmy let her go and quickly sniffled, trying to hide the fact he was tearing up. Taking a seat at the respective sides of the table, he immediately reached for her hand. He held it softly, rubbing his thumb along her knuckles.

"How was your search? The screws didn't get handsy with you, did they?"

"No, it was just a quick pat-down, thankfully."

Even though it was the answer he was looking for, a sort of wry expression fell upon him. Catherine figured he was just generally annoyed with the prison bullshit altogether.

"Have ya been doin' alright?"

She couldn't bring herself to lie to him—not when he was surely wracked with worry over her and the boys—so she nodded her head once, keeping her mouth shut. The day he's released will be the day she'll feel the slightest bit okay.

"How's Sean?"

"Doesn't seem too fazed. I think that's because he doesn't understand what's goin' on, ya know?"

He nodded, then dryly asked, "And my boy?"

Catherine maneuvered in the uncomfortable metal chair, trying to formulate an intelligent thought. Did she tell him? She worried that it would break his spirits even more if he knew someone else had broken the news to Eamonn. Then, on the other hand, she wondered if, in the long run, it would do Jimmy some good.

"He," Catherine started. She looked up at him, her eyes softening and brimming with tears. "Eamonn knows—he knows you're his da, and he wants to see you, but I don't think it would be a good idea to bring-"

Jimmy went lightheaded as a bubble of fury popped in his core. He pushed it down. She'd never tell Eamonn without him being there, too, so it was safe to assume someone else had let it slip.

"Who fuckin' told him?" He tried to hide the roughness in his voice, but it was impossible.

Thankfully she didn't seem fazed by it. The last thing he wanted was to scare her.

"Brien did, but I swear he didn't mean to."

"I don't give a shite if it was an accident. We were all in agreement there wouldn't be any talk of it when the boys are around to keep this very fuckin' thing from happenin'. How did he react?"

"He seems oddly okay. Call me crazy, but it's like subconsciously, he always knows. When it first came up, he used your name, but then without missin' a bloody beat, he—he called you daddy."

Leaning back in his chair, Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. He pursed his lips, feeling the weight on his back suddenly becoming ten pounds lighter. The longer Catherine insisted on waiting, the worse it would have been for Eamonn in the end. Having the news broken to him now would save him from an even more confusing and angrier future.

"Next month," he said, jabbing his index finger into the tabletop, "If I'm still here, you bring him to see me."

Catherine nodded in agreement. It was so far against her better judgment to bring Eamonn to the maximum-security prison, but then she remembered what the Kings wanted from her. If she was going to get Jimmy closer and comfortable enough to start letting more of his secrets slip, this was the perfect way to do it. Using Eamonn as a pawn was a terrible thing to do, but all she could think about was staying alive.

She pushed up the sleeve of his sweater. Her jaw began to tremble when she saw his wrists were raw and bruised. The guards were purposely slapping the cuffs on too tight. He quickly covered the evidence.

This was far from the first time Jimmy found himself confined to a cramped cell. It was, nonetheless, the first time Catherine was seeing him at the mercy of Her Majesty's Prison Service. He fucking hated it.

"Most importantly, how are you doin'?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. "Gettin' some readin' in. Turns out when I don't have shite to worry about, I can sleep. Other than that? The screws are fuckin' assholes and I could do without the strip searches. But, beggars can't be choosers."

Catherine's stomach twisted; acid charred the back of her throat. It was naive of her to think Jimmy wouldn't be subjected to the usual practices.

"Do you have a date for a bail hearin' yet?"

"Of course not. They slapped me with two more bullshite charges yesterday afternoon. Conspiracy to direct acts of terrorism and conspiracy to commit acts of terrorism."

"Mother'a Christ, Jimmy. Please tell me you're just takin' the piss."

The way his expression became serious told Catherine he was wasn't lying. He reached up and nudged her chin with the knuckle of his middle finger. "I don't need ya worryin' about me when you've enough on your shoulders already, yeah? I'll be home with you and the boys before ya know it."

"Aye," she said, her brow somewhat relaxing. "I'm thinkin' when you're released, if you wanna spend a few nights with me and the boys, I wouldn't object."

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah? What's with the change of heart?"

Several times in the past he suggested just that but was turned because Catherine said she was worried about confusing Eamonn and Sean.

Being back in front of Jimmy, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers, and the conversation with Brien at the forefront of her mind made Catherine sick to her stomach. She regretted telling the Kings about his decision to push the Sons. When the vision of the four of them sitting around the dinner table flashed in her eyes, she wondered if there was a way she could throw the Kings off the scent trail.

Catherine wasn't sure who she was trying to convince. "I just want my family together."

* * *

With the boys spending the night with Brien, she decided to head to the pub in east Belfast and get some work done. Catherine poured herself three fingers of the single-malt scotch Jimmy kept tucked away in the bottom left drawer of his desk. The spicy-honey flavor was far stronger than what she was used to, but it did the job.

Licking a drop of scotch off her lower lip, she straightened in the chair and fanned out the papers Ian gave her earlier. She suspected a long time ago Liam had tied himself up with the PSNI. Though, she always held out hope her gut feeling was wrong. In Catherine's mind, there was nothing that justified becoming a tout. If it came down to the issue of money, she wished he would have come to her. Without a second thought, she would have given it to him—no questions asked, no pressure of repayment.

Seeing her brother's name on that list forced her to rethink everything she knew about him. A million questions were sitting on the tip of her tongue, yet she wasn't sure if she cared to know the answers. Mainly because of how mad she was. She wasn't mad because he touted in the first place. What utterly pissed Catherine off beyond belief, was the fact she was the one left to deal with the mess he created. The love she felt for her eldest brother swelled more each day. Now, she'd be forced to sign his death warrant.

An echoing knock at the door pulled Catherine from her thoughts.

"Come in," she said, quickly stuffing the list of informers into the center drawer.

Seamus Doherty pushed the door open just enough to stick his head inside. Like the rest of them, he looked exhausted. "Sorry to bother ya, Catherine, but your da's here."

"He drinkin'?"

Pityingly, Seamus nodded his head.

The fucking cherry on top of this entire cluster fuck.

She dropped her head and swore to herself, wondering why another problem she'd have to clean up was dumped in her lap.

Standing up, Catherine grabbed the knitted cardigan off the back of her chair and strolled over to Seamus. He opened the door more, allowing her to exit the office. Under the fluorescent lighting in the hallway, she couldn't ignore the dark purple circles under his dull eyes. He was more ashen than usual and there were wrinkles in his forehead that hadn't been there a week ago.

"Go home, Seamus," urged Catherine. "Go be with Orla and the wee one."

Seamus did something that was beyond out of character for him; he pulled Catherine in for a tight hug. Resting her chin on his shoulder, she reluctantly placed her hands on his back and hugged him back. By how he squeezed her, Catherine realized he needed the hug just as much as she did.

He whispered, "I'm not goin' anywhere for as long as you're sittin' behind that desk."

The show of support Catherine had gotten in the last several days since her return blew her away. She never expected her comrades to welcome her as chief of staff with such open arms.

Heading into the main area of the pub, Catherine quickly spotted Patrick alone in a back booth. A warm pint of Harp was nestled between his hands and an empty shot glass sat at the edge of the table.

Taking a deep breath, she ignored the gnawing guilt which accompanied her thoughts. This was one battle Catherine didn't have the strength to fight. Sometimes a girl just needed to share a pint with her daddy.

Making her way behind the bar, she pulled herself a pint of Harp then grabbed a shot glass, and tucked a bottle of whiskey under her arm.

Patrick didn't so much as flinch when Catherine slid into the booth. He looked up at her through his ginger eyelashes as she poured both of them a shot. A sense of failure sank in when she passed him the glass, but that didn't stop him from picking it up and tossing back the harsh liquor when she did.

In silence, they drank and smoked. Just enjoying each other's company, decompressing from the long three days.

Patrick was elated to be home, and Catherine was elated to have him home. Being locked away in Musgrave was always far more stressful for him; the anxiety of whether or not he'd ever see freedom again wasn't easy to shake.

Catherine poured another shot, needing the liquid courage.

"Liam's been sayin' more than just his prayers."

Patrick swallowed the whiskey hard, his vacant eyes remaining emotionless "You're sure?"

"Aye. I have a source at Musgrave and he was able to give me a list of names—Liam's was on it." Catherine rolled the glass between her hands. "I have no idea what I should do."

"The fuck you mean you've no idea what to do? Decision's obvious."

Catherine's jaw nearly fell to the floor. The lump in her throat cracked her voice. "He's your son!"

"He's a tout," Patrick bitterly muttered, bringing the pint to his mouth for a sip. "He took the Saxon's shillings so his hand put the goddamn noose around his neck. Ya want Eamonn's da home, Catherine Mary? Then ya put on those fuckin' big-girl knickers an' act as the chief of staff."

"It's a council decision, Da. I can't just order-"

"Since when do you give a shite about what the bloody Kings have to say?"

Catherine's lower lip began to tremble. It took every ounce of self-control to keep the tears brimming her eyes from sliding down her cheeks. She couldn't let Patrick see her get upset. Not now; not when she's supposed to be the backbone.

She wanted to tell him she had to tread carefully with the Kings after finding out Jimmy threw her under the bus about Ian. But there was no way she'd be able to. Catherine knew for a fact Patrick would never see or speak to her again if he found out she'd intimately been with an English policeman.

She'll figure it out. She always does.


	47. Righteous Indignation

**1994 - Falls Road, Belfast **

Jimmy surprised Catherine and met her outside of St. Dominic's when school ended for the day. She passed the exam she had been stressing over with flying colors, as he knew she would, so he saw it fitting to treat her to pizza.

With his arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders, the two began their casual decent down the road. They laughed and joked, made plans for the upcoming celebration of St. Patrick's Day.

It all came to an end when Jimmy stopped dead in his tracks.

"Shit," he breathed, dropping his arm from her shoulders.

Catherine looked up at Jimmy, wild butterflies filling her gut. The color just about drained from his face, his eyes blazed with a fearfulness she'd never seen from him before. Twisting her neck, she peered down the road and saw what was causing him unease.

Soldiers on patrol, their rifles held close to their chests.

Licking her lips, Catherine pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger. "You've somethin' on you, don't ya?"

"Aye. We can go around-"

"They're out in full force after the mortar attack yesterday, so there's no way we'll be able to avoid 'em. I've an idea."

Grabbing Jimmy's hand, Catherine crossed Cavendish Street to drag him into St. Paul's Church. Just inside the lobby, she shrugged off her backpack and placed it on the ground, then knelt so she could unzip it.

"Give it to me," she ordered, holding her hand out. Knowing Catherine's chance of being searched were just as high as his, Jimmy wasn't sure if this was a good idea. She could feel the worry radiating off of him. This wasn't her first rodeo; she'd done it several times with Patrick. With unshaken and confident eyes, Catherine held his gaze. "Please, trust me."

Scrubbing his hands over his face, Jimmy conceded. "Can't believe I'm fuckin' doin' this." Lifting the hem of his windbreaker, he shimmied the Browning pistol out of the waistband of his jeans. He gently placed it into Catherine's hand, where she immediately popped the magazine out and took the loaded round out of the chamber. His eyebrows shot up, his words laced with disbelief. "Jesus Christ."

"Don't look too surprised. You're the one who taught me how to do it."

"Once, I showed ya one bloody time."

Catherine shrugged, meeting his eye-line. "I'm a fast learner. Your chib?"

Jimmy leaned down and rolled up his left pant leg. He ignored her use of Scottish slang, knowing full well she picked it up from Filip, not Olivia. After tugging the combat knife from his Dr. Marten boot, he held it out to her so she could grab it by the grip. "Be fuckin' careful with that. It's sharp, so it is."

Watching Catherine carefully tuck it away in her backpack, a hard wave of disgust crashed over him. Something about her handling the very knife he used to slice a Glasgow smile into her uncle's face didn't sit well.

"That it?"

He nodded, holding out his hand to help her stand up. Catherine snatched the woolly hat off his head and clamped it between her teeth as she pulled her long ponytail out of the elastic. After she had her distinct red curls hidden under the cap, Jimmy slipped the backpack on her. If she were to pass another patrol on her way home, the red hair would instantly give her away as Paddy O'Toole's daughter, which would result in her being searched from head to toe.

"Ya go straight home, understand? Dump the bag with Liam and meet me in an hour. I'll have Donny swing by before your ma gets home to pick it up." Jimmy placed his hands on her shoulders, amazed by how calm she seemed. "Have ya thought about joinin' the Fianna?"

Catherine vigorously shook her head. "I haven't; the Fianna is only for boys, anyway. And even then, for what? So before I'm thirty I can die in vain like Mairéad Farrell or spend nearly a decade in prison, like Dolours Price?"

"Your da know what kinda shite those shill teachers of yours are fillin' your head with? If ya stop listenin' to 'em, in fifteen years, me, your Da, and Liam'll be takin' orders from you."

Rolling her eyes, Catherine turned on her heels to push open the heavy wooden door. "They're not fillin' my head with anythin; I've two eyes and can see the carnage in Norn Iron for myself. Besides, I plan to attend uni and then marry a nice lad from the Republic and spend my life as far away from this place as possible. Maybe if everyone here could stop killin' each other for five minutes, t'would be a decent place to live."

"Ya can't run from it—it's in your blood, a chuisle. How 'bout this, the day you take your seat at the head of the officer's table, I'll buy you a pint."

She smiled, "Deal. But I hate to break your heart and say it's never gonna happen."

Burrowing her hands into the pockets of her coat, Catherine inched her way towards the sidewalk. Jimmy slid on his sunglasses as he watched her cross back onto the Falls Road, then tucked a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. As he started walking in the direction of the checkpoint, he shook his head, chuckling to himself.

"And when that day comes, may God have mercy on us all…because she sure as hell won't."

* * *

**2008 - Lisburn, Northern Ireland**

Returning to his cell freshly showered, Jimmy decided to take advantage of the empty phone. There was only one phone for prisoner use in Roe House, and that often caused conflict. So, Jimmy preferred to go old school by writing letters, but even then he didn't correspond much with the outside. The guards couldn't wait to read the letters he was sending or receiving, or listen in on his phone conversations.

After Catherine told him about Eamonn, there was nothing he wanted more than to talk with his son.

Strolling down the hall, Jimmy crinkled his nose at the strong scent of industrial cleaner hanging heavy in the air. He had the unfortunate timing of being locked up in the middle of a dirty protest. In 1979, he supported Patrick on the blanket, and then the hunger strikers in 1981. If sentenced to hard time, Jimmy was ready to follow the gallant footsteps of Bobby Sands, but living in filth and squalor was where he drew the line.

Picking up the phone's receiver, he tucked it between his shoulder and ear while dialing. As it rang, he planted the sole of one boot against the wall. It didn't matter to him that every man locked up with him knew he who he was, Jimmy refused to turn his back for even a second. It was still prison.

On the third ring, he looked at his watch. Considering it was half-five on a Sunday night, his palms became clammy and his heart hammered; it shouldn't take her this long to answer.

"Wasn't expectin' to hear from ya so soon," she snickered.

Catherine knew it was him calling. She got the generic message about their call being recorded and monitored before the line connected.

"Everythin' okay at home?" He was genuinely concerned, not expecting it to worry him as much as it did when it took her a while to answer.

"Aye, everything's grand. I was out in back playin' a wee bit of rugby with the boys, my Da and Brien. My Da's convinced that son of yours'll be the next Rory Best." Her lighthearted giggle took the weight of the world off his shoulders for a minute. Jimmy closed his eyes and imagined her smile, wishing like hell he could be there, too.

"Liam isn't with youse?"

He heard the squeak of the back door as Catherine closed it. Knowing the conversation was being listened to, she had to speak carefully. "He's dealin' with leaky pipes, so he is. It's an absolute bloody mess, but nothin' we can't handle."

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut and rested the receiver against his forehead. He had to collect himself before spouting off something that would only come back to bite him in the ass.

Remembering it was all in Catherine's hands now, he had to let it go. If there was anything she needed him to do, his lawyer would pass on the message.

After all, he was taking orders from her now.

"How's Eamonn?"

"Dead-on. He keeps askin' about ya, but I'm brushin' it off 'cause I haven't the slight idea what to tell him."

"Can I talk to him?"

"Aye," she affirmed, without the slightest hint of hesitation. He heard the back door open again and her calling outside to Eamonn. Then she said something that almost made his knees buckle, "C'mon, daddy wants to talk to you!"

After a few seconds of scuffling and mumbled words, Jimmy heard Eamonn's voice. He slightly choked up, the realization that he'd have to watch Eamonn grow up from inside Maghaberry was hitting hard.

"Hey, how've you been doin'?"

"Good!" Eamonn exclaimed, clearly excited to finally have the chance to talk with Jimmy. "I keep askin' Mammy when you're gonna be home, but she said she doesn't know. Do you know when?"

"It shouldn't be much longer, I promise. How's school goin'?"

Eamonn gave a very detailed rundown on everything going down at St. Matt's. His love for gossip matched his mother's—by the time Catherine graduated, Jimmy knew every juicy rumor floating through the all-girls grammar school. When most people would just smile and nod, not absorbing a single word, Jimmy actually listened.

"Are you and your brother behavin' for your ma?"

"Well, I am. Sean…not so much."

"Oh, yeah? What has he been up too?"

"I dunno," he testified.

Jimmy chuckled. He couldn't even be mad that Eamonn refused to throw his brother under the bus. At a young age, he was already taking the idea of "I didn't hear anything, I didn't see anything, and therefore I don't know anything," seriously.

When an automated voice broke in to warn there were only five minutes left until the call disconnected, Jimmy asked him to put Catherine back on the phone.

"Okay, Daddy, here's Mammy."

Closing his eyes, Jimmy soaked in his son's words. His throat tightened and every emotion imaginable punched him right in the gut.

"I hope ya don't mind if he calls you that," she spoke softly. "He asked if he could and I didn't have the heart to tell him no."

"Hearin' him call me Daddy is all I've ever wanted, Catherine. Be honest with me, how's he really doin'?"

Catherine sighed, which wasn't a good sign. "Honestly? He's been strugglin'. Every time I tell him that he can't see or talk to ya, he breaks down. Gettin' him to do anythin' is a fight, especially at bedtime. He won't go to bed because he wants to wait downstairs in case ya come over, and once I do convince him to go upstairs he refuses to sleep in his bed. But you know how it is; he's just a little more, sensitive, I guess. I think he gets it from Liam."

Jimmy didn't have the heart to tell Catherine their son was more like him than they both thought. Growing up, he'd been the sensitive one, with Filip by his side, always ready to defend him. How could he tell the woman who fought every single one of her own battles that the man she perceived to be just as strong, broke down just as easily as her son?

"I'll make sure to call as much as I can. Maybe that'll help. I wish I was there to help you when they get rowdy."

"Don't worry about us, yeah? Your main focus is gettin' out, so let me handle everythin' on this side of that hell-hole you're in. Please, trust me."

Suddenly, Catherine wasn't a twenty-nine-year-old woman with her own family and responsibilities. Hearing her utter those three words, "_please, trust me,_" she was fifteen and shoving his pistol and combat knife into her backpack without the slightest bit of apprehension.

Taking a breath, Jimmy knew he could let go, put all his trust in her taking care of what needed to be done.

He croaked, "I told ya you couldn't run, a chuisle. It's your blood."

"Yeah, well, just get your arse home because ya owe me a bloody pint."

* * *

**Lower Falls - west Belfast**

When Liam walked through the door after a long day of work, he found his sister sitting on the sofa. She blew out a steady stream of smoke from her nostrils and crushed the cigarette in the ashtray.

Liam sat in the armchair across from Catherine, easing his aching feet out of his steel-toed boots. "Where's Eamonn and Sean?"

"Your wife was sweet enough to take 'em to a movie with Erin. I haven't seen ya since I got back, figured I'd wait. I'm _so _happy you and Da didn't end up in Maghaberry with Jimmy."

The way Catherine tilted her head to the side and emphasized the latter statement sent chills down his spine. Resting his forearms on his knees, Liam interwove his finger.

She continued, "I've been so lucky; I was only brought into Musgrave once. When the detectives were yellin' at me, sayin' how they knew I'd been apart of all these operations, all I could think about was how much I'd let down Da, Jimmy, you—the cause. I wasn't scared by the idea of spendin' thirty years in prison, I was devastated thinkin' I'd been so bloody stupid, I caught a fed tail and didn't even realize it. And then Detective Wright said somethin' that made me realize I didn't have a tail, but instead we had a rat amongst us."

Reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the table, Liam took one and lit up. Now he understood why Catherine sent Shauna out with the kids. He was just hoping his wife and daughter wouldn't come back to an empty house, then days later find out he'd been left on the side of some border road in the Republic, his body beaten and tortured. Almost fifteen years in the Ra now, Liam knew exactly what happened to those who dared exchange money for highly sought after secrets. When the secrets were spilled from the inside, the punishment was even worse.

At this point, there were two things he could do: deny it, or be a man and face the consequences for his actions. Denying any involvement with the PSNI would only make the remaining time he had before death more barbaric. He wanted to go quick and painless; maybe a bullet to the back of the head as he stumbled back to the safe house drunk.

"Your own father, Liam? How could you do that to Da? After everythin' he's sacrificed for us and everythin' he's already been through, this how you-"

"Don't ya fuckin' dare lecture me on what Da _sacrificed_ for us, Catherine!" Liam shot up from the chair and tossed the cigarette into the ashtray. Standing in front of her, he placed his hands on the top of the sofa to corner her. "The stories he tells about what went on in the Kesh was his own doin'; t'was all his choice. Ma was the one who sacrificed everything so we'd never have to go without! We spent so much time with Uncle Filip and Aunt Fi, and Jimmy because Ma knew if we were with one 'em, we'd have a fuckin' meal to eat. I tried to keep you and Da out of it, I really did. I never meant for you to get picked up, ever."

"Is that the Catholic guilt kickin' in?"

Liam leaned down further, bringing his mouth to her ear. He whispered, "The only guilt I have, is that you were in the bedroom when I paid the UDA to take out Jimmy."

Catherine thought she was going to be sick. Goosebumps prickled her skin and the blood pounding in her ears drowned out the rest of his words.

She still had nightmares about that night; how Jimmy narrowly managed to tackle her to the ground before her bedroom was littered with bullets.

"It was my house! Of course, I would've been there; you almost had me fuckin' killed!"

"You weren't supposed to be there! Ya were supposed to be at home with Ma and Da because of the riot in the Short Strand. I thought for sure Jimmy would drop you off and then go get the rifles."

"Why, why would you even do that in the first place?"

Pushing off the sofa, Liam picked up the cigarette that was still smoldering in the ashtray. He sat down in the armchair, taking a long drag.

"Because I couldn't take watchin' him ruin your goddamn life anymore. No one else was steppin' in, so I took it into my own hands. After that screw up happened, I realized the only way I'd be able to get him away from you is if he were in prison. I stopped talkin' when you left the Ra and moved to Andytown with Darragh, then I still kept my mouth shut for years after Darragh died because I saw how much Jimmy was helpin' ya with the boys. But it fuckin' pissed me off to see how Eamonn looks more and more like Jimmy every day and last week when I saw the two of them just laughin' and playin' football at the park, I lost it. I went to the Serious Crimes Branch and told 'em everythin' I know. You, the boys…deserve someone a hell of a lot better than Jimmy O."

Hearing his reasoning only left her feeling more conflicted. It would be a lot easier of a situation to deal with if he touted simply to bring down the entire cause. How could she be mad at him when all he did was try to protect her? He did exactly what any big brother would do.

The problem? Unlike Liam, Catherine didn't believe she deserved better. Not after the one good man in her life was so savagely ripped away.

"Jesus, Liam," Catherine choked, running her hands through her hair. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Or the position you've put me in?"

"They promised me the Ra would never find out, and I sure as shite never thought you'd end up sittin' at the head of the goddamn officer's table."

Her eyebrows shot up and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, that makes two of us. But your biggest mistake was trustin' the peelers."

"Aye." Stubbing out the cigarette, Liam then clasped his hands. "I suppose you're here to turn me over to the Nutting Squad?"

His heart sank at the grief that glazed her eyes. Her trembling lip and the tears slipping down her cheeks were enough of an answer for him.

Bowing his head in silence, Liam swallowed the stinging lump in his throat. Nausea twisted his stomach when he realized he wouldn't have a chance to kiss his wife and daughter one last time.

The moment he handed off the envelope of cash to the UDA to kill Jimmy, Liam accepted his fate. It wasn't death itself he feared, but how badly Shauna and Erin would struggle after.

At the sound of his sister rustling through her large purse, Liam looked up.

For four days straight Catherine agonized over what to do. She didn't eat, sleep became a foreign concept. Eventually, she knew her decision would catch up to her, but when the day came when news of Liam's transgressions leaked, she knew she wouldn't regret it.

She wasn't doing this because she was looking to earn brownie points with the man upstairs or to even make herself feel like a good person. She made her decision on the fact her brother was a good, decent man who was always a little too delicate for the rough world they'd been born into.

From her purse, Catherine pulled out three blue booklets. _Passport-United States of America _was stamped in gold on the cover. She tossed them on the table along with credit and bank cards, a stack of papers that contained birth certificates, social security cards. Cash. Finally, tickets for a one-way flight.

"If anyone else were in my position, you'd already been on your way to the border. I'm not doin' this because you're my brother, I'm doin' this for Shauna and Erin." She began to cry harder, which made Liam cry, too. "Because I know first hand what absolute hell it is to bury the man you love more than anythin' in this world, and I know how difficult it is to be a single mother. Nor should Erin have to grow up without her da. Here's what's gonna happen: as soon as I leave here, you're goin' to meet with your solicitor and a detective to retract your statements on record. Then, you take your girls and travel to California, where Filip has agreed to help set youse up."

Liam felt like he had the wind knocked out of him. He didn't understand what he'd done to be given such mercy, but nonetheless, he wasn't going to question it. She just handed him a second chance at life; he'd do whatever she asked of him.

"Oh, God. Oh, Catherine, I-"

To stop her brother from speaking, she held up her hand and stood up. "This doesn't change the fact you're a tout. Or, nearly had me bloody killed. You are to never again step foot in any of the thirty-two counties. If I find out you've come back, so help me, Liam, I will kill you myself. Am I understood?"

Scuttling to Catherine, he wrapped his arms tightly around her. Her head rested in the curve of his neck and she held him just as tight. Saying goodbye was never easy, especially under circumstances as theses. If she could sell her soul for things to turn out differently, she would.

Liam knew there was no act of penance in the world that would make up for his disloyalty. As a sign of good faith for the grace she'd given him and his family, there was one piece of information he could pass on.

Nuzzling his nose into her hair, Liam lowered his voice. "The Kings sanctioned the hit on Simon Townsend. Then they voted to hand Darragh over to the UVF."

Lifting her head off his shoulder, Catherine's gaze was hard and icy. At that moment, Liam watched the life leave her beautiful eyes.

Never in her life had she felt such betrayal. She could make peace with Liam touting, or Jimmy telling the council she'd had an affair with Ian. Knowing it was the men who claimed leadership to the cause she'd dedicated her life to who authorized the assassination on the UVF's chief of staff and then willingly handed Darragh over for retaliation, that was something she'd never accept. Darragh long before paid the price of his crime against the UVF-there was no reason for the Kings to do what they did.

"They're done," she spat through clenched teeth. "Every last one of those mother fuckers."

"When you're done here, you'll know where to find me." Cupping her jaw in his hands, Liam pressed a kiss to her forehead.


	48. Silver Bracelets

Catherine topped off her glass of merlot. She curled up in the corner of the sofa, bringing her knees to her chest as she took a large sip of wine.

"You're sure ya trust his word?"

Licking a droplet of wine from the corner of her mouth, Catherine set the glass on the side table. She rested her chin on her knee, just staring at Mickey in an attempt to figure him out. His expression was absent, which mirrored hers, which made her believe he was probably feeling the same way she was.

Slight confusion. A little shock. A whole lot of anger.

She didn't blame him for doubting Liam's confession about the Kings authorizing the deaths of Simon Townsend and Darragh. Liam was a tout, therefore his word meant nothing on the street. To Catherine, it still meant everything.

"I do. At this point, there's nothin' Liam would gain by lyin' about it. He knows he can never come back or be in the Ra."

"What the fuck!"

Jumping to his feet, Mickey placed his hand on top of his head and just paced the living room. Catherine's heart sank deep into her belly as she watched the distress twist his boyish features. He was trying to make sense of it all, but she didn't have the heart to tell him that he never would.

Nothing in their world ever made sense.

"Darragh served his time! We can't let 'em get away with this…you're Ceann na conairte, there has to be somethin' you can do!"

Catherine took a slight offense to Mickey's use of a term that was traditionally set aside for the leader of the mafia in the Republic and the United States. She was a soldier, not a gangster.

"Firstly, don't ever refer to me as the Ceann na conairte ever again; we're an army, not the bloody Irish mob," she said, slowly getting up. Strolling to where he stood, she placed her hands on his shoulders and looked him square in the eye. "I understand your rage, Mickey, I do. But right now, ya need to let it go and trust me."

"Your plan is to just let 'em walk then, yeah?"

Catherine narrowed her eyes, sending Mickey a clear message that her patience was running thin. She wasn't going to put up with bullshit from a twenty-year-old punk who probably had no idea why he joined the Ra in the first place.

"If Darragh were here and heard ya speakin' to me like that, I'm guessin' he'd punch every one of your goddamn teeth out. Now, I may not be your commanding officer, but that doesn't change the fact I'm the OC of the True army—you will respect my rank, Real army boy or not. Understood?"

He nodded, and her stomach twisted. The moment the remark left her mouth, Catherine thought for sure she'd be sick. Those weren't her words she spoke, they were Jimmy's.

She held a straight face, not daring to show Mickey she had disgusted herself.

"Grand. I only told ya this because I felt ya deserved to know the truth about your cousin. Don't disappoint him by actin' irrationally, ya need to be smart. I promise ya I'm just as angry as you are, but I see that we've got a long road ahead of us. Please trust me when I say the Kings will not be gettin' away with what they did—there's just loose ends I need to handle before anythin' can happen, though."

He didn't acknowledge what she said. His hard gaze was fixed on something behind her. Turning around, Catherine saw what it was—the photo Darragh with Sean in his arms, which sat on the mantle above the fireplace.

Tears stung the corners of her eyes as she thought back to the day they brought Sean home from the hospital. They'd just moved to Andersontown, and even though they had two kids almost in the same calendar year, life couldn't have been anymore blissful. As he held his son protectively in his arms, Catherine couldn't remember a time when Darragh looked so happy. So at peace.

That was the last time she was happy or at peace, too.

Opening her mouth to say something, she was interrupted by a knock at the front door. Her heart hammered in her chest when she looked at her watch and saw it was nearly one o'clock in the morning.

With the fear of being raided constantly in the back of her mind, she wasn't as brazen as Jimmy to leave firearms clandestinely stashed around the house. So, she held her index finger to her mouth in a warning to Mickey to stay quiet. She crept to the front window, pushed back the curtain and sighed loudly in relief when she saw who was standing on her doorstep.

She quickly let them in.

"Do youse have any idea what time it is? Ya scared me half-to-death, so you did," she scolded.

Moving aside, Catherine let Patrick in with Sean and Michael Casey close behind. What took her by surprise was her mother following behind the Casey brothers.

Patrick only grunted, fishing the pack of cigarettes out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

She turned her attention to Olivia. "What are you doin' here?"

"Your guess is about as good as mine," mused Olivia, tossing her thumb in the direction of the Casey's. "The fellas wouldn't say anythin' other than I'm to come with."

"Get your coat, Catherine. Father Ashby says you and your da are to come with us," Sean ordered.

Catherine swallowed hard, reaching over and plucking the lit cigarette from her father's fingers. She took a long drag. "For what?"

Michael shrugged. "We're just the messengers. Your ma is to stay back and watch the boys."

Not wanting the cigarette to give it the way that her hands were trembling, Catherine shoved it back to Patrick. She said a silent prayer this had nothing to do with Liam's sudden departure. If the Kings were to find out she sent him away without first facing consequences for his touting, there was no way of knowing what they'd do to her or Patrick in retribution.

It was too late in the night for Mickey to drive back to Derry, so Catherine gave him the address of a safe house he could crash. When he left, Catherine grabbed her wool pea coat, kissed her mother goodbye, then followed Patrick and brothers outside.

Patrick opened the back door so she could slide in. Once they started making their way to the east side of the city, he handed her a flask after taking a nip from it.

Having spent three days in jail under constant questioning by detectives who possessed little manners, on top of finding out his son was a paid informant, Catherine didn't blame him for hitting the bottle again. She just hoped he wouldn't fall too far down the rabbit hole.

To settle her nerves, she took the flask and thanked him. The raw Tullamore Dew burned every inch of her empty stomach on the way down. It did nothing to stop her from taking a second swig.

Just as she expected, they ended up in front of St. Matt's church in the Short Strand. The four remained silent as they walked in.

Watching Catherine dip her fingers into the pool of holy water and make the sign of the cross, Patrick admired the fact his daughter managed to keep her faith despite everything life had thrown at her. He followed her lead, saying a small prayer for her. He wondered just how many people prayed for the girl who prayed for just about everyone other than herself.

Ascending down the aisle, Catherine took notice to the man sitting beside Father Ashby with his back turned. She couldn't exactly make out who it was, which didn't help her clammy palms or sky-rocketing blood pressure.

She wondered how in the world Jimmy lived with this kind of stress for so long without having a heart attack or stroke at such as early age.

Catherine and Patrick sat in the pew just behind Father Ashby and the mystery man, while Casey brothers sat behind them.

"I'm gonna take a wild guess here and assume ya didn't have me dragged here in the middle of the night for friendly chit-chat. What's the craic?"

At the same time, Father Ashby and none-other than Cameron Hayes shifted in the pew so they could face her. Catherine couldn't remember the last time she saw the likes of Cameron—he spent most of his time Newry, visiting Belfast only to see his cousins.

Father Ashby cleared his throat. "Some unfortunate news has reached us from California."

"Oh, Lord." Instinctually, Catherine grabbed Patrick's hand and interwove their fingers, squeezing. "Please tell me Filip's okay."

"Aye, your uncle is fine, child. It's Michael; he was…beaten to death by the Oakland port commissioner. A bloke called Brennan Hefner."

Catherine shook her head and once again made the sign of the cross. She said a prayer for her dear friend's soul, in utter shock, completely unaware of what to say, think, or feel.

Not even a day ago she spoke to him on the phone, where he told her SAMCRO managed to come up with the money they asked for. He seemed in good spirits, confident there was no trouble lurking when she asked if law enforcement was giving them a hard time.

"I'm so sorry, Cammy," she said, reaching out with her free hand to offer a comforting squeeze to his shoulder. "But, what the fuc-fudge happened?"

She could hear Sean and Michael snickering at her sad attempt to cover up the fact she almost dropped a certain four-letter word in the Lord's house, to a priest.

Patrick handed Cameron the flask. The bloated and red eyes were a giveaway that Cameron had been crying over the loss of his closest cousin.

After taking a swig of whiskey, he spoke bitter words, "My boy said Hefner threatened to bust the shipment that's due to arrive on Monday. He wants to triple his pay-off. Michael, God rest his soul, was pissed and went off on him for demandin' a new deal. Hefner must'a gotten spooked because his goons beat him, broke his neck."

Releasing her hand from Patrick's, Catherine pinched the bridge of her nose. She squeezed her sore eyes shut and wished like hell Jimmy was the one dealing with this mess, not her.

She also wished McKeavy had reached out to her. If he told her of the new demands Hefner was making, there was a possibility they could work something out. She understood why he lost it—a triple payout was more than what their books allowed for, but they were at the mercy of those who oversaw the ports in both Ireland and the U.S. It was better to play ball than risk a shipment being intercepted by federal agents.

"Had he not gone after Michael, I would'a been willin' to make a deal. I'll have to get approval from the council, but the only logical thing to do now is to take Hefner out."

Father Ashby assured Catherine, "The council had already decided for that to go forth, but they were very clear it's to be done quietly. No army tags; it shouldn't point fingers back to us. You also must appoint a lad to meet Clay in Charmin' and pick up the money. The Kings wanted me to sit down with you and offer guidance so a _smart _decision can be made."

Patrick watched her take a slow sip of whiskey. Insult was written all over her face and he didn't feel she was in the wrong for feeling that way.

Catherine knew exactly what was happening. The Kings were making it amply clear they didn't trust her ability to make decisions that would have a lasting effect on the True IRA.

It filled her with a fleeting satisfaction that perhaps they were slightly afraid of her influence amongst the men she commanded. If they weren't, they wouldn't have sent their lap-dog of a priest to make sure she came to the conclusion _they _wanted.

"Ya think my daughter isn't smart enough to choose a fella to become the new contact in Nor-Cal, Father?" Patrick's infamous boozy temper began to rise. He never took well to other's show of condescension towards Catherine. "She graduated at the top of her class, so she did. And it's her brain that's been runnin' the cause-"

Catherine pinched Patrick's thigh to shut him up. While she appreciated her father coming to her defense, Catherine didn't think this was the time or place for him to mouth off to the man who had the Kings eating out of the palm of his hand.

Considering what Liam told her about Simon and Darragh, on top of the attempt to have the UDA take out Jimmy, Catherine didn't trust anything Father Ashby said. There was no way he didn't know about any of those incidents—especially when the Kings had been so quick to point the finger at the UDA in the first place.

Unlucky for them, she had spent nearly her entire life learning from Jimmy O'Phelan. She knew which battles were worth the fight.

And fighting the good priest on picking McKeavy's successor, wasn't it.

She smiled, her voice was soft and calm. "Who do the Kings see to be fit, Father?"

"Cammy. He'll take care of Hefner, pick up the cash, and act as their new contact."

She couldn't argue with that decision; Cameron and Eddie were far more loyal to Jimmy than to the cause. As hated to admit it, but when she looked at Cameron all she saw was a man who could easily be manipulated.

"You're a fine choice, Cammy. Plus, I can't imagine how excited Eddie'll be to see more of you." Hiking up the sleeve of her coat, Catherine looked at her watch. It was well after two and she was exhausted. The boys would be up for school in less than five hours. "Now, if you gentlemen don't mind, I'd like to go home and be a mother."

Father Ashby nodded.

"I'll let ya know when Clay delivers the money," chimed Cameron.

Sliding out of the pew, Catherine stood and fixed her coat. She bid Cameron good luck on the trip, telling him to give Eddie her best.

Outside of the church, Catherine and Patrick stood on the sidewalk smoking as Sean and Michael were in the car. He asked the brothers for a moment alone with his daughter.

"Do you believe that prick? He's gettin' a wee self-righteous for that collar…should'a knocked him out for speakin' to you like that."

Catherine chuckled, blowing smoke from her nostrils. She studied Patrick closely, hoping to find a sign that would convince her he wouldn't spend the next week or two on a bender. Hearing the news about McKeavy was the last thing he needed. The loss of a comrade never easy, especially when the bloodiest years of the Troubles were spent fighting side-by-side.

"I'm sorry about Michael, Da. You doin' okay?"

"It is what it is; I'll be fine. He was a damn good soldier so ya better agree to him receivin' a full-honors funeral."

She agreed, "He deserves nothin' less."

Flicking his cigarette into the street, unease wrapped its hands around him when he noticed a couple walking on the opposite sidewalk, following the length of the peace wall. When they rounded the corner onto Newtownards Road, he knew exactly what was about to happen.

"Are you carryin' anythin' on you?"

"Just my knife. Why?"

Patrick held his hand out. "Give it to me."

"What? Why?"

Patrick's sudden shift from calm to anxious wasn't sitting well with her.

"Just give me the fuckin' knife, Catherine."

Tossing the cigarette to the ground, Catherine scrambled to get the knife Jimmy had given her out of her boot. When she handed it over to Patrick, he wasted no time winding up and chucking it over the raised peace wall into someone's backyard.

"What the fuck?" she screeched. "I've had that since I was-"

Patrick covered her mouth with his hand, realizing he didn't have much time. "You didn't let 'em under your skin last time, so don't let it happen again. Your Ma and I'll take good care of the boys; we'll see ya in probably a week."

Catherine didn't have a chance to digest what her father told her before the dark street flooded with flashing blue lights. A fleet of PSNI squad cars came down the street in both directions, leaving her with no chance to run.

Before the first two cars even came to a stop, male officers jumped out of the passenger side of their respective vehicles.

Patrick instantly put his hands up when they got between him and Catherine, inching him away from his daughter. The second officer kept his hand firmly placed on the pistol he wore on his hip.

In a matter of seconds, Catherine was overwhelmed by the sheer number of officers who were closing in. Their faces were covered, only their eyes were exposed, and they screamed at her.

"Knees on the fuckin' ground, hands behind your head!"

On account of the fact there were about a dozen automatic rifles pointed at her, Catherine dropped right to her knees, lacing her fingers behind her head.

In an attempt to stop the panic attack that was bubbling to the surface, she kept her eyes off Patrick and steadied her breathing. All she could think about was how confused Eamonn and Sean were going to be when they woke up to find she wasn't there.

Grabbing cuffs from his tactical belt, one of the officers broke from the pack to get behind her. He slapped a cuff around one of her wrists, then maneuvered both arms down behind her back to secure the other.

"Catherine O'Toole," he said, helping her up to her feet. "You're bein' detained under Section 41 of the Terrorism Act."

_Again?_ Catherine thought.

Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful.


	49. Three Days

Catherine knew they purposely left the bright light on in her cell. The goal was to make her sleep-deprived and disoriented, then hopefully convince her to turn Queen's evidence.

The joke was on them. Catherine was already so sleep-deprived, being locked away in the warm cozy cell was almost like a mini-vacation. Light or no light, the moment her head hit the thin, sad-excuse thing called a pillow, she fell fast asleep.

Now she understood what Jimmy meant when he said he was getting sleep in Maghaberry. At Musgrave, everything was out of her control. To keep her mind off what possibilities lie ahead in her future, Catherine chose not to think of it, and only focus on making it through the next hour with her sanity. Finally getting some sleep helped.

She had just woken up from a nap following a particularly long, grueling session of questioning. There was no "good cop - bad cop" routine this time around. The team of detectives wasted no time squaring up. They got in her face, called her names; giggled like school-boys while making wanton and derogatory anecdotes at her expense.

And unlike last time, she was far more brazen. A bit mouthy. When they threatened her with an array of charges, Catherine smugly reminded them of one thing: If they had any evidence of her involvement with the IRA or any IRA operations, they would have already formally charged her.

That quickly shut them up.

The second questioning had gone a lot smoother. For six hours, in a small room with two overweight and sweating detectives, she didn't say a single word.

Hearing the heavy door at the end of the hall slam shut accompanied by the squeak of rubber-soled shoes on the floor, Catherine bolted up. She shoved her feet into her boots just as the blue door of her cell swung open.

"O'Toole, let's go."

Sleep still in her eyes, Catherine looked up to see an officer standing halfway between her cell and the hall. Dressed in the uniform of dark green trousers, a white button-down shirt, and black tie was a bloke called Danny McCarthy.

"You're not wearin' your cute wee hat," she taunted, a sarcastic smile curling the corners of her mouth. "Did the big boys on the playground steal it from ya?"

He rolled his eyes, his expression reflecting he wasn't amused. "Shut your fuckin' bake."

"Touchy, aren't we? No need to twist your knickers over a wee joke."

Standing up, Catherine exited the cell first. As they walked down the hall side-by-side, he held a tight grip on her bicep.

Alone in the stairwell leading up to the interrogation rooms, Danny tugged Catherine into the corner, out of view from the cameras. She knew she could trust him—for the most part—but that didn't stop her heart from racing. Being on edge at the prospect of another five straight hours of questioning wasn't helping her nerves, either.

So when he pulled a pack of cigarettes out from his pocket and offered her one, she felt silly for worrying about nothing.

"Thank you," Catherine said, blowing a cloud of smoke above their heads.

A Catholic boy, Danny grew up with the O'Toole siblings on the Falls Road. Catherine even went to St. Dominic's with his youngest sister. When the PSNI began to heavily recruit Catholics into the police force following the peace agreement, Danny reluctantly joined, seeing no other way to provide a stable home for his wife and children. Having come from a relatively republican family such as Catherine, it had been no surprise when most of Danny's relatives disassociated from him.

Catherine genuinely felt for the guy. He was just trying to pay his bills and put food in his children's bellies.

But as it turned out, somethings in Belfast never changed. The previous summer, Danny went to Catherine for help after his sister's former boyfriend began to stalk her. After the PSNI did nothing, it was the IRA who solved the problem with a bullet to each of the fella's kneecaps.

When it was all said and done, Catherine never once held the favor over his head. For that, he was grateful.

"_We look out for our own_," she told him. "_No one else is gonna fight for us." _

Finished with her cigarette, Catherine stubbed it out on the concrete landing and tossed the butt into the trash can. Danny escorted her to a room that was a lot smaller and more cramped than the one she was in before.

Removing the cuffs from his tactical belt, Danny secured one wrist, then locked the other cuff to the metal peg anchored to the tabletop.

He lowered his voice to just above a whisper, "I have no idea what's goin' on exactly, but they've been panickin' all night and they still are."

Catherine nodded to show she acknowledged what he told her. When he left, she rubbed her dry, aching eyes. At this point, she was sure her contact lenses were glued to her eyeballs.

She didn't have to take a wild guess that the detectives were panicking because their case against Jimmy was now falling apart at the seams. She was also doing her part to tank their evidence as well, by offering a laundry-list of alibis for shootings and mortar attacks they were trying to connect her and Jimmy to.

Stretching her arm out on the table, Catherine rested her head. She watched the second-hand tick away on the clock that was hanging on the wall. It was almost seven, and based on what Danny said, she guessed it was morning.

That would mean she was going on day three.

Just two more to get through, she reminded herself.

She snapped straight up when the door behind her opened. She didn't bother to look back and see who it was, but she found the scent of the aftershave filling the small space to be peculiar.

The breath hitched in her throat when detective Ian Wright plopped down a stack of folders on to the table. He set a paper cup of tea and a few sausage rolls on a napkin in front of her. Easing down into the chair, he patted his pockets for his cigarettes. When he found the pack, he shook one loose and held it out to Catherine.

Bluntly ignoring the no-smoking sign on the wall, they both lit up.

Holding the cigarette in the hand which was cuffed to the table, she shamelessly drank the tea with her free one. He prepared it the exact way she liked it; no cream, but incredibly sweet.

From one of the folders, Ian pulled out a crisp sheet of paper and slid it in front of her. She rolled her eyes, pushing it back, wrongfully assuming it was another statement against Jimmy they wanted her to sign.

"I'll tell you what I told the other detectives. Go fu-"

"It's a statement from one of Liam's neighbors; said they saw you leaving his house only an hour before he came here and retracted his statements against Jimmy. You expect me to believe it wasn't you who convinced him to change his mind?"

"I'm not my brother's keeper—he's free to do whatever he likes."

"I would disagree with that, and I think he would, too. We have a fair amount of evidence that points to Jimmy as the officer commanding, and you the intelligence and operations officer for the entire True IRA."

Catherine sucked her teeth and held her gaze with Ian. Of every detective in the goddamn department, why did he have to be the one questioning her now? She knew he was smart enough not to use their history to bring her down. Still, for some reason, there was a nagging embarrassment on her part that they were once again sitting on opposite sides of the table.

"There's only one problem with your accusation, detective. I never have, nor will I ever be a member of the True Irish Republican Army."

Reaching into one of the folders, Ian produced a photo of her standing outside of a pub with the two men who'd recently been sentenced for explosives and conspiracy charges.

"Then what were ya doin' hangin' out with the likes of Seamus McDaid and Aidan Kelly?"

"I grew up with 'em," she defended. "They went to school with my older brother and they remained mates. You're wastin' your time here; I've no idea why my brother left or where he went."

Ian dumped his cigarette into the tea she hadn't finished drinking. She threw him a dirty look and he smugly smiled at her as he rolled up the sleeves of the dress-shirt to his elbows.

He knew this was a waste of time, too. She'd never talk to him about any of this – he couldn't even get her to admit her involvement with the IRA while mid-orgasm. The woman was a secure vault of secrets.

"For me to be able to help you, you have to talk."

Catherine laughed. "I don't need help, and even if I did, you, Detective Wright, are the last fella I'd ever seek it from."

He hadn't been expecting her to react as harshly as she did. The truth was, he'd do anything to help her out a jam. He honestly cared for her and didn't want to see her life circle the drain as it did for so many others who've been in this same position. Maybe she didn't have reason to trust him; he needed to fix that.

Ian slid the statement which he said was from one of Liam's neighbors back in front of her. "I think you should read this."

"Nope," she said gruffly, pushing it away.

"Miss. O'Toole, I think it's in your best interest to read it."

The authority that Ian's voice held was the kind he used in bed. Through blonde eyelashes, she looked up at him. He smiled and picked up one of the sausage rolls, biting into it.

Picking up the paper with both hands, Catherine skimmed it. Just as she predicted, it was all true. But what made her do a double-take was the handwritten note Ian scribbled on the bottom.

_Jimmy's due in court at 10am – keep talking to run out the clock. You'll be released once his case is dropped. _

It all clicked. With Liam gone and his statements retracted, she was the Crown's last-ditch effort to make the charges against Jimmy stick. As long as she was talking, feeding them bullshit and giving the illusion she was helping, they wouldn't stall Jimmy's case.

So that's why Ian jumped on the opportunity to handle the questioning, she realized. He was helping her after all.

* * *

True to Ian's word, Catherine was released from Musgrave well after sunset. Patrick picked her up from the station and brought her back to her house.

During the short drive, she didn't say a word. He didn't take any offense to her silence as this was the only time she'd have a chance to decompress. When he pulled up to the curb, Patrick killed the engine of his car and unbuckled his seat belt. Catherine followed his lead, completely taken by surprise when he reached over to pull her in for a hug.

He held his daughter tighter than he'd ever held her before. A firm grip to the back of her neck, Patrick nuzzled his nose into her hair. It made him sick to his stomach that she smelt of the generic soap dispensed in the showers at the station.

No chance he would ever admit it to a single soul, but for the first time since she joined the Ra, Patrick was genuinely scared the night at St. Matt's was the last time he'd ever see Catherine outside of prison walls.

Curling her fingers into the collar of his shirt, her knuckles turned white. A hard wave of emotions crashed over her; there was only so much a person could take before breaking.

She finally reached her breaking point.

Tears exploding from her tired eyes soaked through Patrick's t-shirt. He knew there were no words of comfort he could offer to help soothe the agony gripping her soul. Instead, he did the only thing a father could do at that moment; he rubbed her back, kissed her head, and gave her a warm, safe place to be defenseless in.

Eventually, she calmed. The tears stopped and her breathing steadied. Lifting her head off Patrick's shoulder, she wiped the tears away with the back of her hands.

"I'll never know how ya put up with it so many times," she sniffled.

Patrick's heart sank. If he'd been half of a decent father when she was growing up, maybe he could have saved her from all this. He reached out and brushed away the last of her tears with his thumb. Her eyes were so bloodshot, nearly every one of the vessels were visible.

"The only thing that kept me from breakin', was you. I knew that if I just put up with it, I'd get to have my wee Catherine Mary back in my arms."

"Nuh-uh. Don't lie."

He gasped, "Hand to God, I'm not. Ya know, I'm slightly hurt that you think I'd fib about somethin' like that."

"I'm sorry," said Catherine, looking away from Patrick with shame. "You're just, I don't know, so head-strong that I guessed you breezed through that shite."

"When I first went to Castlereagh in '79, when your Ma was ready to pop with you, the RUC beat the absolute shite outta me for days. I wasn't head-strong then. To make it all stop I signed a confession and missed the day you were born."

"Don't feel too bad about it. I don't remember ya not bein' there, so no harm no foul."

"There are only five things I seriously regret in my life, and bein' locked in the H-Block the day you were born is one of 'em."

Curiosity got the best of her. Hesitantly, she asked, "What are the other four?"

Patrick cleared his throat and ran a hand through the mop of thick copper hair, which matched hers. "Bein' locked up when Filip left because I wasn't there for your Ma, bein' in Tralee on the day that fuckin' soldier attacked ya while you were walkin' home from school. The day I had my first drink, and…and the night I broke your nose. I'll never fuckin' forgive myself for what I did to you."

A heavy silence blanketed them. As much as they both tried to repress that memory, it never went away. Sometimes, she swore she could still feel the bolting pain of the solid blow which rearranged her face. The one thing she'd never forget was the sheer agony of having it adjusted.

Despite Jimmy's ability to pop the fractured bone back into place, she still avoided mirrors because she hated the fact it would never again be perfectly straight.

"T'was a long time ago, Da." Catherine placed her hand on top of his. "I forgave ya the night after; when I came home from Cross with Jimmy and ya were in the livin' room waitin' up for me."

Patrick's heart fluttered in his chest at the mention of that night. He remembered it quite well. Between Fiona being in Dublin with Kerrianne and Catherine showing up hours after her curfew, something about that night never sat well with him. He asked if anything happened, and of course, she denied it. But he had to know.

"Be honest with me, Catherine. Did he…did Jimmy put his hands on you that night?"

Catherine carefully considered her options. She could tell him the truth and risk him blowing up, or keep denying it and feel like an ass. Plus, she wasn't entirely comfortable with Patrick knowing what she'd been up at seventeen-years-old.

To be fair, she reminded herself, Oliva was seventeen when she got pregnant with Liam.

"Before I tell ya, I need to remind you it was over a decade ago, and that man is the reason ya have a handsome grandson who you love so very much."

"…I don't think I like where you're goin' with this."

She could feel herself going lightheaded, and it wasn't due to her lack of food over the last three days.

"All I'm gonna say is that I didn't shag him, but somethin' did happen and it was completely consensual."

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill him, and I should'a fuckin' killed him when-"

"Believe me," she interrupted, "There are days I wish ya would have, too. But then I look into those sweet eyes of my wee Patrick Eamonn and I don't regret a thing."

* * *

Getting Eamonn and Sean to bed was never an uneventful task. Baths, teeth-brushings, and wrestling them into pajamas took at least an hour. Now that Eamonn was learning to read, she had him read the obligatory bedtime story to her and Sean, before finally saying their prayers.

"Are you gonna be here in the mornin', Mammy?" asked Sean as she tucked him in.

Catherine simultaneously had the wind knocked out of her as a dagger drove straight through her chest. She watched the slight anxiety fill those big blue-gray eyes, but he did everything he could to hide his nervousness.

Brien was right; Sean took after Darragh more so than in just the looks department. As her brother so eloquently put it, "he's a resilient wee fecker."

Catherine brushed the locks of chestnut hair off his forehead and pressed a kiss to the soft skin.

"Aye, lovey. And then once youse are done with school, we're gonna go see Dessie and a few other of the fellas in Dundalk."

"Is my Daddy gonna be there, too?"

She looked up, to see Eamonn's head poking over the railing of the top bunk. He looked so hopeful, yet hopeless at the same time. Even though Jimmy was now home with Fiona and Kerrianne, she didn't have it in her to tell the boys he was back.

Not because she was trying to keep them from seeing him, rather she wasn't quite ready to hand over the role as chief of staff back to Jimmy. It may have the second most stressful ten-day period of her life, but Catherine surprised herself by easily falling into the role.

"Yeah, is Jimmy gonna be there?" Sean pipped in.

After the emotional rollercoaster, the boys and Jimmy have been through, maybe a quiet weekend in the Republic together was exactly what those three needed.

"I'll see what I can do," she said and placed another goodnight kiss on Sean's forehead. Standing, Catherine tucked Eamonn back in, kissed him, and turned off the light. "Goodnight, my loves. Sweet dreams, I love youse."

In unison, they responded with a chorus of, "Love you, too, Mammy."

Hearing those sweet words again, it was music to her ears.

Jogging down the stairs, Catherine shut off the television. She took a moment to enjoy the silence, listening to the soothing hum of heavy rain beating against the house.

Feeling grounded, she began straightening out the disorganization left behind by her brother. She deeply appreciated all the hours he gave up to watch the boys over the last three days. The mess? Not so much.

Once the toys were put away, the furniture was dusted, and a load of laundry was started, she tackled the kitchen.

Catherine rinsed off the final plate from dinner and placed it into the drying rack just as someone knocked on the back door. She quickly wiped her hands, then scuttled to the door.

At this point, she was so used to people showing up at her house at all hours of the day. A nine p.m. visitor didn't faze her; it came as a relief. Better to be bothered now than after midnight.

Unlatching the chain, Catherine popped the deadbolt and opened the door.

"Jesus, Jimmy; you're soaked, so you are. Get in here, you'll be catchin' the death of cold. Ya want a cuppa-"

Taking two steps inside, Jimmy swiftly placed a meaty hand on Catherine's hip to pull her closer to him. He drove his other hand into her hair, gripping the roots to keep her head steady as he sealed his mouth against hers.


	50. Sexy Dirty Love

Catherine's brain was short-circuiting.

In the four years since Darragh, Jimmy was the only man, besides Ian, whom she was willing to lose her inhibitions for. What made her drop her guard completely were the bolts of lightning exploding from that kiss.

Her nerve-endings fried and every single hair on the back of her neck stood to attention as his tongue brushed hers. Catherine couldn't remember the last time she felt so electrified, so alive.

Not caring he was damp from the rain, she grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling him closer. He laid an absolute claim to her mouth, re-exploring every nook and cranny. Her honeyed tongue tasted just as sweet as he remembered.

A moan bubbled in the base of Catherine's throat as he tickled the roof of her mouth. But he stole it, along with her breath.

With his foot, Jimmy pushed the door shut. He walked her backward, their tongues tangling and fighting for control. She tried to overtake his mouth, but he wasn't allowing it.

When Catherine's back hit the edge of the countertop, he hoisted her up.

He broke the kiss, running a hand down her chest. Through the thin cotton of her white t-shirt, Jimmy could feel her puckered nipples.

Breathlessly, he asked, "The boys?"

"Upstairs, asleep."

Hopefully.

Her answer satisfied him. Shrugging off his coat, Jimmy let it fall to the floor. When he curled his fingers into the waistband of her jogging pants, Catherine helped him shove them down. They were quickly tossed aside, along with her panties.

It was a mess of battling hands when it came to unfastening his belt. Jimmy swatted her away, trying to focus on getting the leather strap freed. As he worked the button and fly, he was afraid Catherine could tell his hands were shaky.

The last time he'd been this nervous and eager for sex, he was seventeen-years-old, about to lose his virginity in the backseat of a Ford Cortina.

When he felt Catherine's cool hand against his jaw, he relaxed. Staring into her glittering eyes helped his focus, and he swore she grew more beautiful with each passing day.

Despite the lust making her pupils the size of dinner plates, Jimmy didn't miss the flicker of agitation every time she blinked. He wasn't sure if it was from her thinking back to how horribly he treated her in the past, or because it had been a while since she was last with a man.

A beautiful girl like her, it had to be the former. He pushed aside the jealousy of her being with anyone else besides him, as the all too consuming guilt of having treated her like shit swallowed him whole.

"You sure ya wanna do this?" Turning his neck, Jimmy pressed a soft kiss to her wrist.

Catherine dragged her tongue along her lower lip, staring deep into his light blue eyes. He seemed just as shell-shocked as she was. After six years of not even so much as a kiss, neither could believe the strong pull of attraction was still there.

All the lies. All the betrayal. Yet here she was, excited and thinking only of the clawing, laughing, crying, leg-shaking orgasms she knew he was capable of bringing upon her mind, body, and soul.

It wasn't all mindless self-indulgence, though. For ten days she'd worn his crown, and Catherine thought she looked quite nice. Not to mention, there was no way in hell Jimmy was oblivious to the council decision to hand Darragh over to the UVF.

Maybe the Kings were right. It was time to bring him close again.

He was just as guilty as the rest of them.

"Aye," she said, her voice husky.

Capturing his bottom lip between hers, Catherine deliberately kissed him with excruciating slowness. Her hands roamed down his chest, stomach. Eventually one of her hands found its way to the front of his Calvin's, where she could feel his erection straining against the soft material. She showed no mercy and squeezed him.

When the most hedonistic mewl she's ever heard before escaped him, she giggled into the kiss.

He pulled his mouth away from hers, his breathing heavy. "Fuck, Catherine."

"I want you, Jimmy. I want every ounce of you."

Her lips were only a hair's breadth away from his. Jimmy could feel her hot breath against his skin; her fingers slipping into the waistband of his briefs were doing absolutely nothing to calm the white-hot arousal.

In his mind, Jimmy was battling one hell of a dilemma. After spending two weeks at Maghaberry without any sort of release, the way she was squeezing and stroking him through his briefs had him almost ready to pop. Once he slid inside of her, it was game over. Jimmy knew he'd embarrass himself by finishing too quickly.

When he knocked on her door following a fight with Fiona, he had zero intentions on ending up balls deep in Catherine. If he did, he would have at least been smart about it and jerked off before coming over.

Now he had to decide: humiliate himself by coming faster than a teenage boy, or be a chump and stop?

Leave Catherine hot and bothered for another man to cash in on when her cunt is all he could think about for the last six years?

Absolutely fucking not.

"I'm about to bloody embarrass myself here, so I promise I'll make it up to ya and worship the ever-livin'-fuck outta your body later."

"What are you-"

Jimmy shut her up by grabbing the back of her neck and crashing his mouth down onto hers. The skilled work of her tongue sent a shiver down his spine—he didn't remember her being _this _good at kissing.

Shoving down his trousers and his briefs just enough to free his caged cock, Catherine wrapped her bare legs around his waist. One of her arms hooked around his neck, while the other hand braced the lip of the counter. Both of his hands now biting her hips, he inched her ass to the edge. She leaned back just slightly, allowing the perfect angle for Jimmy to slide home.

"Shite," he grunted, driving his cock deep until he hit bottom.

He powered in and out of the slick, velvet heat he loved so much. Grabbing the back of her neck again, he locked his eyes on hers. The world around him ceased to exist. No longer could he feel her nails digging into his skin or hear the vulgarity of their bodies slapping. All he was focused on was how she felt around him.

"Ya gotta keep quiet," she warned.

When he let one last "fuck," slip, Catherine silenced him with a kiss. The last thing they needed was for one—or both—of the boys to catch them in such a compromising position.

Just like the night in the back of the Ford Cortina, Jimmy came way sooner than he'd like to.

As he pulled out, he watched the milky evidence of his release spill from inside of her.

_Fuck!_ he screamed at himself. How could he have been so stupid?

* * *

Jimmy found the perfect combination of fingers and tongue that made Catherine want to scream and cry, and escape, all while praying he wouldn't stop for a single second. He was merciless—pushing her right to the brink, but not quite allowing her to dive off the cliff.

"Oh, God. Oh, God…oh, Jimmy," she cried, clamping her teeth down on the corner of the comforter.

Hearing the syllables of his name roll off her tongue in such a lewd fashion was making him harder than he already was.

Curling his fingers, he found that small spot inside of her, making the top half of her body twist. She shoved the blanket into her mouth, a failed attempted to muffle her moaning. He could feel her legs quaking as he kept forth with his assault.

Sliding shaky fingers into Jimmy's hair, she dug her nails into his scalp and pressed his face into her cunt. A low chuckle vibrated in his throat, and she heard it.

"Stop laughin' at me!"

"I'm not, I'm just tryin' to make you come."

"Well, that certainly won't happen if ya keep talkin' now, will it?"

He loved that smart-mouth of hers. Sometimes.

Jimmy pinched her ass at the same time he teased her clit with the tip of his tongue. She arched her back, forcing her head further into the mattress.

He went back to what he was doing before, feeling pure satisfaction coursing through his blood when she tossed her legs over his shoulders. One more curl of his fingers, and those muscles locked-up.

"Oh fuck, Jimmy, I'm gonna…"

Jimmy swore he felt the vein in his forehead pop when the cell phone sitting on the nightstand sprang to life. The basic ringtone bounced off the walls and it danced from the vibration.

Catherine threw an arm up, her hand blindly searching for the phone.

"Don't you fuckin' answer that," he growled.

"And don't you fuckin' start with me; ya know I have to!"

It was her burner phone ringing. Until Jimmy was debriefed by the security unit and cleared for active duty again, Catherine was still chief of staff. There was no excuse, other than _maybe_ her death, for her not to answer.

Without first looking at the number, Catherine flipped it open. "Hello?"

Jimmy went right back to kissing and teasing her inner-thighs. Considering she was being bothered at nearly four o'clock in the morning, one of the fellas had better be dead.

When Catherine heard the voice on the other end of the line, she immediately shot up, propping her back on the headboard.

"Who is it?" Jimmy mouthed.

She whispered, "Filip."

Catherine detested the devilish grin that spread across his mouth. She knew what he was about to do, and she snapped her knees shut. But Jimmy would never forgive himself if he didn't take advantage of the gift which the universe handed to him on a silver platter.

She shook her head, placing a soft hand on his chest. She mouthed, "Don't. You're better than this!"

He furrowed his brow. It was as if she didn't know him at all! Did she not remember when she was eighteen and he finger-fucked her at the table during Easter dinner? All the while Patrick, Liam, and Brien sat across from them completely unaware.

Prying her legs open, Jimmy circled his finger along her clit. Her head smacked against the headboard and he closed his mouth around one of her nipples.

She was quickly snapped back to reality when she heard her uncle say her name twice. "Aye, I'm still here."

Having enough, Catherine pushed him off of her. She hopped off the bed and grabbed her robe, ignoring Jimmy's attempts to grab her attention. Leaving the bedroom to the bathroom, she closed the door, leaving him unattended.

Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, Jimmy planted his feet on the floor. He was irritated, not expecting Catherine to get as cross as she did.

Swiping the cigarettes off the nightstand, he tucked one into the corner of his mouth. When he couldn't find a lighter, he opened the drawer. The assumption that one would be in the nightstand was wrong, and he found something he wished he hadn't.

Right on top of all the clutter was an accordion of foil-wrapped condoms. Jimmy picked them up. There were only five left, make him sick to think indiscriminate sex was now part of her repertoire.

He wracked his brain trying to figure out who she could be screwing around with. Ian was definitely out of the equation now, and just thinking about the two of them together made him shutter. Jimmy did realize there was a strong possibility they were leftover from that affair, but his jealous brain refused to accept that as truth.

It had to be another True IRA bloke. She had been scared straight to be with a man from outside of their circle, and no way would she get tangled up with a Real army fella.

He wondered how frowned upon it would be to bribe Eamonn and Sean for information on who was spending a fair amount of time with their mother.

Hearing the bathroom door squeak open, Jimmy shoved the condoms back into the drawer and closed it, with enough time to spare to make it seem like he wasn't up to something. When she entered the bedroom again, Catherine said nothing as she rested her back against the door.

"Everythin' okay?"

The unlit cigarette was still dangling from the corner of his mouth. It dried to his lip so he was afraid to pull it off, knowing it would sting like a bitch.

Catherine looked up at him, her eyes empty. She gave him absolutely nothing to work with, just simply walked over to her dresser and opened one of the drawers. She tossed him a Zippo and he caught it mid-air. Jimmy turned the lighter over in his palm and his breath hitched in his throat when he saw an oak tree engraved into the aluminum.

The Irish word doire—meaning oak—was where the name _Darragh _derived from.

Jimmy closed his fist around it and held it tightly for a moment. A pang of deep-seated guilt stopped him from using her dead boyfriend's lighter.

After setting it on the nightstand, he peeled the cigarette off his lip. Catherine intercepted it and used the Zippo to light up.

"What the fuck happened on that call? What did Filip say to ya?"

Leaning back on the door, she took a lazy drag of the cigarette. "Cammy Hayes was shot…in the arse."

Jimmy's first reaction to the news was to laugh and Catherine followed suit. "Shite. Is it…is he gonna be okay?"

"Filip said he got the wee slug out, but the bleedin' is pretty bad. I guess Jackson is seein' a bird who's a doctor so they're tryin to track her down right now. There's just one wee snag; who's gonna take out Brennan Hefner? I don't trust Eddie to do it—I don't think the boys killed so much as a fly."

He gestured for her to hand over the cigarette. He took a long drag and blew smoke rings into the air, giving it back.

"So what's the plan then, chief of staff?"

She shrugged. "What would you do?"

"I'm not tellin' ya what I would do. It's your bloody job, not mine."

Catherine found a spot on the wall to fixate on. Her eyes moving from side-to-side, Jimmy could see the wheels of her brain were turning.

Stepping forward, she stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray and sat beside him on the bed.

"Have SAMCRO take care of Hefner; it benefits them, too, because he's the one standin' between the shipment."

"Clay'll want compensation."

"Let 'em keep the money they owe us. I'll talk to Dessie about the south Armagh lads takin' on an extra shipment of petrol and cigarettes for the next three months.

It wasn't exactly how he'd do it, but it would work.

Jimmy nodded in approval and picked up her hand, kissing the back of it.

"I should be headin' home. It'll confuse the boys to see me here when they wake up."

Catherine wasn't sure why, but she grabbed his wrist as he started to stand up. "Stay. If not for me, then for Eamonn. He'll be over the moon to see ya."

"For you, a chuisle, I'd do anythin'."

* * *

**A/N: I want to say thank you for the amazing feedback I received on the last couple of chapters! I haven't been sure whether or not my story is well-received, and I'm glad to hear it's sparking interest. Jimmy isn't the easiest character to write, and I almost cried tears of joy when I saw the reviews that I've somewhat got him down. A story that humanizes a man like Jimmy isn't everyone's cup of tea, so I deeply, deeply appreciate having a steady stream of readers/reviewers! **


	51. Bitch

_A bolt of pleasure pulled Catherine from her deep slumber. _

_She bit her lip, spreading her legs a little wider. Her hand reached down to lazily run her fingers through Darragh's hair. _

"_I could get used to wakin' up like this," she tried to say. But she was so close to coming, the words came out a jumbled mess. _

_Something about the tongue lapping her warmth seemed mildly peculiar. The blissful cloud she'd been floating on vanished, sending her right to the ground. _

_Catherine's eyes popped open and she lifted her head, staring down at the man feasting between her legs. _

_Jimmy looked up, wiping her off his mouth. "Don't worry, a chuisle, I'll get ya there." _

"_What the fuck?" _

_Feeling the bed dip, Catherine turned her head to see Darragh. He brushed her hair away from her damp forehead. A stoic expression of concentration tightened his features. _

"_Just relax. I'm right here." He gently took her hand and interwove their fingers before kissing her knuckles. "Lay back down and just enjoy it." _

_Jimmy dipped his head, carefully wrapping his lips around her clit. The mixture of pleasure and pressure was almost too much for her to handle. Her nails dug into Darragh's hand as she twisted as if trying to get away. _

"_Careful!" Darragh scolded, reaching out and smacking the side of Jimmy's head. "She's bloody sensitive to that, so she is!" _

_Jimmy mumbled against her slick flesh, "Oh, fuck off, Ryan. I know what she does and doesn't like." _

_With his middle finger, he ever so lightly teased the opening of her soaked hole. Her eyes squeezed shut and her back arched off the mattress when the tip of his tongue brushed along her swollen nub of nerves. _

"_Keep lickin' just that. She's really likin' it." _

_Catherine opened her mouth to try and tell Darragh to make it stop. It wasn't Jimmy she wanted, it was him; it was only ever him. But again, and again, and again, Jimmy's tongue flicked against her electrified flesh. _

_Darragh kissed her forehead. "C'mon gorgeous, it's okay; come for Jimmy." _

_His words broke her. One final lick and her body tensed, her toes curled. _

'_This is crazy,' she wanted to scream. _

_So. Fucking. Crazy. _

"Catherine."

Hearing Jimmy call her name pulled Catherine from twilight. She could barely hear him over the sound of her heart pounding. Her pajamas clung to her sweat-dampened skin.

She bolted right up, pushing the heavy duvet off her body. The rush of cool biting air was welcomed. With a shaky hand, she pushed her hair out of her sleepy eyes.

"Are you okay?" he asked, sitting on the edge of her bed.

Her ashen skin made him think she was coming down with the flu. Affectionately, Jimmy placed the back of his hand on her forehead to check for a fever.

No fever, thankfully.

"Aye. Weird fuckin' dreams," she said, blinking rapidly. The sunlight flooding her bedroom made her eyes squint. "What time is it?"

"Half-ten."

"What? Why didn't you wake me?"

Darting right out of bed, Catherine grabbed the short, cotton robe hanging from a hook on the back of her door. Before Jimmy could stop her, she jogged down the hall to the boy's room. Pushing the door open, she found it empty-even their beds were made.

"I dropped 'em off at school."

She turned around, and Jimmy was leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom. His ankles were crossed and both hands were in the front pockets of his tan-colored trousers.

"Did they eat breakfast? What about their lunches?"

"Such little faith ya have in the father of your son. Of course, I fed 'em, and I even made their lunches." Pushing off the doorframe, Jimmy took a couple of steps forward and wrapped Catherine in his arms. "For the record, I did try to wake ya, but you were dead to the world. So, I let ya sleep; can't imagine how bloody exhausted you are."

Relieved the boys were taken care, Catherine rested the side of her face on his chest. While she was slightly annoyed he hadn't woken her up so she could've seen just how excited Eamonn and Sean were to finally see Jimmy, she was greatly appreciative of the opportunity to sleep.

And not to mention the fact he stepped up and took care of the morning madness himself. For the first time, ever. She was happy to see he came out unscathed.

Closing her eyes, Catherine inhaled deeply. She swallowed her bubbling giggles when she caught a whiff of her sweet and clean soap lingering on his skin. Hopefully, he didn't plan on going home to Fiona smelling like another woman.

"Did they behave for you?"

"Aye," he said, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "Eamonn put up a wee fight, wantin' to spend the day with me. I told him that if he went to school without any lip, I'd come to Dundalk with youse this weekend. Seemed to satisfy him."

Catherine lifted her head off his chest, wrapping her arms around his neck. "That's where you've made your first mistake, O'Phelan."

"Yeah? How so?"

"Ya see, Eamonn is just like his da. Ya give him the slightest inklin' you're willin' to make a deal with him, and he knows he's got ya wrapped around his wee finger."

"Nah. I think he gets that from his ma. Because like you, a chuisle, he was a hard bargin'. I damn near gave in when he called me daddy."

"Don't let him fool ya. He knows he's cute and he'll use it to break you."

Jimmy's eyebrows raised, and he wondered if she heard what she said. "Ya do realize you're further provin' my point that he's just like you, yeah?"

Catherine smiled and laughed, failing at her attempt to show faux offensive. "I never once used my adorableness against you."

"You can't even say that with a straight face."

Backing Catherine against the wall, Jimmy moved her hair away from her neck, immediately attacking the warm flesh with his mouth. As he kissed, sucked, and nipped, he snaked a hand under her shirt.

"Who says I was tryin'?" Her eyes fluttered shut when his teeth clamped down just as he sensually pinched one of her nipples.

"Just shut up," he snarled.

Following orders, Catherine zipped her lip. Her fingers fumbled with his belt and as she was about to free the button, they were once again interrupted by her fucking phone ringing.

Jimmy balled his hands into fists and pounded them on the wall just above her head.

"I'm sorry," she huffed, taking his cheeks in her hand and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "But ya know how it is-there's no rest for the wicked."

* * *

**Short Strand - east Belfast**

It was surreal for Jimmy to see Catherine sitting behind _his _desk. She seemed comfortable, albeit stressed. Still comfortable, nonetheless.

A little too comfortable for his liking.

"Are you one-hundred-percent sure t'was a peeler from Belfast?" she asked for the third time.

Dessie understood she needed to be certain. He was asking a great deal from her.

"Aye," he said, smacking his intelligence officer on the shoulder to start talking.

Rory Quinn cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in the chair opposite of where Catherine sat. She could tell he was slightly intimidated to be in her presence, and she wasn't quite sure how that made her feel.

"After the girl came to us, we started checkin' out her story to make sure she wasn't full'a shite. Other people who were at the same pub in Cross said the peeler was there and causin' trouble for most of the lasses, so we're inclined to believe her. She was able to give us his name and we tracked it back to a bloke who lives in Belfast and works outta the Oldpark station in Ardoyne. Showed her a picture, she said it was him, so we ran our own surveillance and were able to come up with a pattern."

Resting her elbows on the desk, Catherine rubbed her eyes. Jimmy took notice of how the maroon polish on her long nails was chipped. Something as trivial of chipping nail polish was a sign to him as to how ragged she was being run. She was a firm believer that a bad manicure was a sign of a sloppy appearance. Once they got to Dundalk, Jimmy decided he'd watch the boys for a day and send her off to one of the hotel spas to unwind.

"Takin' out a peeler is gonna cause a lot of problems for me in Belfast. Especially considerin' so many of the fellas were just hauled in."

"I get that, Catherine, but this fuckin' scum came into my territory and raped a nineteen-year-old girl. I must protect-"

Catherine held up her hand to stop him from talking. "When I was sixteen, I was almost takin' advantage of by a soldier. It was the IRA who dealt with him, and we will deal with this bloke. But after what just happened with the volunteers here, I cannot in good faith ask them to handle this. That's why, if you want it done, you'll have to bring up your guys from south Armagh."

That was a good enough compromise for him.

"I'm a wee short-handed, though," Dessie admitted. "Most of my guys are tied up in Dublin handlin' a shipment."

"How many Belfast guys do you think you'll need?" Jimmy inquired.

Catherine looked up at him. He was standing with his back against the door and his arms crossed over his chest. He could see the muscles of her jaw flexing. The glare she gave him sent a chill down his spine. She was doing him a favor by allowing him to be present during her meeting with Dessie and Rory, and she only let him be there under the condition he kept his mouth shut.

The south Armagh men turned around.

"Just two. Myself, Rory, and another lad'll do it."

"Donny and I'll join youse."

"Absolutely not," she barked. "Both you and Donny aren't active yet and I don't need the Kings breathin' down my neck any more than they are already. Seamus Doherty is still here, so I will do it with him."

Three jaws simultaneously fell to the floor. Catherine hadn't been on an operation-besides moving guns from Dungloe to Hannahstown-in over three years. She was more logistics and she did a fine job strategizing. No one was exactly sure how long it had been since she last fired a gun.

"You're not doin' it," Jimmy snickered matter-of-factly.

Her cheeks burned hotter than the sun because he was challenging her in front of two subordinates. She didn't appreciate he was embarrassing her, making it seem as if she weren't capable of being part of the operation.

Catherine spoke low and slow, her voice filled with a weight they've never heard from her, "Seamus and I will be the two partakin' on the operation. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with the Kings, Jimmy."

Now he was the one turning a shade of scarlet. Jimmy shifted uncomfortably, ready to smack the pompous pout right off of her face. Catherine may be the one sitting behind the desk, but she was only keeping his seat warm and she needed to remember that.

A blanket of awkwardness wrapped around Dessie and Rory, who felt like they were stuck in the middle of some strange power struggle.

Dessie drummed his fingers on the desk, catching Catherine's attention. "Well, whoever it is who'll be comin' along, we better get crackin' on a plan here. There are only six hours before this prick's shift ends and we've still gotta get a kit from the Republic."

"Aye," Catherine said, reaching into the bottom desk drawer for maps of Belfast and Northern Ireland. Dessie and Rory quickly began opening them up. As she lit a cigarette, she spoke to Jimmy, not bothering to even look at him. "You can go, O'Phelan."

Gripping the door handle, Jimmy snorted. He wondered when in the hell she became so caviler. When he stepped out into the dim hallway of the pub, it took every ounce of self-control not to slam the door shut behind him.

* * *

**Lower Falls - west Belfast **

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Jimmy silently watched Catherine dress. She pulled on her khaki camouflage pants, tucked in the white undershirt, then secured the leather belt around her waist.

"You don't have to do this," he said.

She didn't respond.

She picked up the olive commando sweater and put it on, pulling her long hair out of the collar. It was identical to the one Jimmy wore during his first year in the British army and then during his tenure as a rank-and-file volunteer.

Catherine sat on the bed beside him, slipping her feet into her worn boots. Once her pants were bloused in the boots, she laced up.

"I know I don't have to, but my men need me."

"They're not your men!" Jimmy snapped, standing up. "You are not their chief of staff, I am!"

Catherine stood, too. Jimmy couldn't explain the rise of anger he felt seeing her dressed in such fashion. Maybe it wasn't so much the fact she looked every ounce of a soldier, it was the confidence, determination, just oozing from her pores. She truly believed she was their leader, about to direct them into battle.

He was jealous. That should be him dressed like that, not her.

"For the last three weeks, these have been my men, Jimmy. They do as I say, for I am their chief of staff. Get over it."

"When youse leave here, do ya really think senior men like Dessie and Rory are goin' to listen to orders given by a _woman_?"

Catherine couldn't believe those words left his mouth. But then again, she had nearly a century of Republican Army history stack up against her. There had only been one woman before her, Bernadette Sands-McKevitt, to climb this high in the IRA ranks. Even though she sat on the council for the Real army, the men around her often brushed off her abilities.

If Catherine were a man, not a single soul would dare doubt her capability to the best leader there ever was.

It broke her heart to hear Jimmy speak in such a way. He trusted her enough to run the guns, plan operations. But apparently, he only trusted her enough to be a subordinate player.

She saw the worry in his eyes. The same worry he felt when he honestly believed Darragh would be the one to steal the head leadership position from him. Except this worry was slightly different-as if he'd rather die than watch _his _army fall into the hands of a woman who was just as capable as he.

Too bad he never thought of this before teaching her everything he knew.

Through gritted teeth, she said, "That sounds exactly like somethin' a Provie would say."

Jimmy recoiled as if Catherine physically slapped him. In the True army world, there was no greater insult that one volunteer could throw at another than to compare him to a member of the Provisional IRA.

She made it personal, so he did, too.

"Darragh felt the same way, did ya know that? He was relieved when ya turned over your beret to focus on runnin' the house and pop out babies."

"You're a fuckin' lair," she spat, though with a hint of doubt.

"Filip and your da don't think women should be in the IRA, either. I'm the one who paved the way for ya when those two were tryin' to block me from every goddamn direction."

"But Fiona-"

"Fiona only kept her fuckin' beret because he da was a bloody OC at the time and Filip didn't want to upset her ol' man. Filip never let her go on any operations he felt were too dangerous. And as the man in your life, I say this operation is too dangerous for you to be on, chief of staff or not, so, you're not goin' Catherine."

She finally snapped. Who the fuck did he think he was, telling her which operations she could or couldn't participate in?

Closing the distance between them, Catherine pushed Jimmy against the wall. His back hit with a thud and before he had a chance to register what happened, she shoved her forearm hard against his throat. As insurance, she lifted her knee, pressing it to his crotch.

"Until you're restored to active duty, you're my bitch; it's not the other way around," she growled. Then she remembered what he'd said to her six years ago, and spat the same words back in his face. "When I tell ya to jump, your only response will be 'yes, ma'am.' I am the OC of the entire fuckin' North Command and you will respect my rank. Is that clear?"

The longer he took to reply, the more pressure she applied to his throat. Jimmy coughed, struggling to breathe. But he wasn't going to give in to her that easy. Her referring to him as her 'bitch' only pissed him off more.

He was, nor ever would be, anyone's bitch.

When he tried to wrap his hands around her neck, she raised her knee. The pain in his groin was like a bolt of lightning shutting down his nervous system. Catherine too refused to relent.

"Am I clear, James O'Phelan?"

Wanting the agony to stop, he conceded and chocked, "You're clear."

The vilest smile Jimmy had ever seen from her spread across her face. When he looked into her darkened eyes, it was as if no one was home. "Grand."

Finally breaking her hold on him, he immediately dropped to one knee in a coughing fit. He wanted to fall over and cradle his aching manhood, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she hurt him more than he was letting on.

It was brave of Catherine to turn her back on Jimmy after that. She knew eventually he'd make her pay for what she did, however, she couldn't care less at this point.

_Let him do this worst,_ she thought.

Strolling to her dresser, Catherine opened her underwear drawer and fished for the rosary beads which once belonged to Darragh. She slipped it over her neck, then tucked them under her sweater.

From her closet, she retrieved her balaclava and gloves, shoving them into the deep pockets of her pants.

Jimmy managed to get up, settling on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around his stomach and bend over slightly. He still couldn't think straight as he watched Catherine slip a knife into her boot. Though he was bitter, he was also oddly aroused.

He knew he had it coming, but he hadn't expected her to stand up to him like that.

"My bag, as well as the boy's are downstairs by the door. Since they're playin' out in the backyard, I'm gonna sneak out. Please have 'em outta Belfast before we hit; I'll see youse in Dundalk."

The bedroom door slamming shut behind Catherine startled Jimmy. He fell back on her bed, listening to her heavy steps jog down the stairs.

Goddamn was this woman going to be the death of him.


	52. Cry

At a safe house in Andersontown, Catherine locked herself in the bathroom. She stripped from her khaki camo pants and woolly sweater. Standing in just her bra and panties, she turned on the faucet. When the water warmed up just enough to be tepid, she washed her hands.

Then she washed them again.

And again.

And again.

No matter how many times she scrubbed her flesh with the hottest water possible, she didn't feel clean. After all, she signed the death warrant which put the blood of a dead police officer on her hands. The five of them pulled the triggers of their automatic rifles simultaneously, so it was almost impossible to know who exactly fired the round which killed the fella.

To Catherine, it was irrelevant as to whose bullet ended the officer's life. She sanctioned it—the burden fell on her shoulders.

Shutting off the water with pink raw hands, she turned her attention to the black duffle bag sitting on the closed lid of the toilet. She unzipped it and pulled out a set of her clothes. After putting on jeans and a light pink high-neck sweater, Catherine stuffed the clothes she wore on the operation into the bag. They were undoubtedly covered in gun-power residue invisible to the naked eye, which meant they'd have to be burned.

She tossed the bag onto the floor and sat on the toilet lid. Lifting the rosary off her neck, she started to rattle off a Hail Mary. Eleven years after the first time Catherine killed a man as a card-carrying rebel, it wasn't so much the act of taking a life in and of itself which caused desolation. What left her despondent was how easy it became for her to pull the trigger now.

As she said a decade of prayer, it wasn't the officer's soul she prayed for. She couldn't give two shits about a man who wouldn't hesitate to fill her skull with bullets. Instead, she prayed for his family; that's who she considered the real victims in this entire tragedy.

"Catherine!" Dessie yelped, knocking hard on the locked door. "Scout car's here, we gotta get a move on."

Shoving the rosary into the back pocket of her jeans, she reached for her boots. "Aye. I'll be right out."

Truth was, she couldn't wait to get the hell out of Belfast for a couple of days.

* * *

Catherine sat a little straighter when she realized Dessie was getting off the A1 motorway, deciding to take the B113 instead. He slightly changed direction, going a little further southeast into Northern Ireland rather than directly south for the border.

This wasn't the agreed-upon route to Dundalk, but considering the scout car was leading the pack, she tried to trust their instincts. Staying inside Queen Elizabeth's territory any longer than necessary was a gamble. Especially when the PSNI was surely looking to round up the usual suspects.

She convinced herself they were getting off the motorway because taking the back-roads through south Armagh's hills was safer. These were south Armagh men, they knew every nook and cranny of this area.

When she glanced at Dessie and he showed no sign of explaining, Catherine's hands only began to tremble more. They passed through Drumintee, which made her realize they were headed for Forkhill.

The small village of fewer than five-hundred people lays just short of ten miles from Crossmaglen. That made it a prized area for Dessie and his crew, allowing them to move virtually undetected in the area dominated by a lush green landscape.

It was also home to the farmhouse and barn they used to interrogate those suspected of committing crimes against the Republican Army.

There was no other explanation for why Dessie was dragging her out to this part of the island. Did they know she let Liam leave without facing the consequences he rightfully deserved? Or the fact she stupidly turned to the Kings and let them know of the mutiny going on right under their noses? Did word get out about her affair with Ian?

More than swayed Dessie was driving her to the sight of her shallow grave, Catherine choked back tears. Her heart sank when she remembered she didn't say goodbye to Eamonn and Sean before leaving.

She had mercy on Liam, maybe they'd show the same to her.

"What are we doin' here, Dess?" she croaked.

He shrugged. "Why? You've got somethin' weighin' heavy on your conscience?"

Catherine swallowed hard, deciding it would be in her best interest to not say another word.

Dessie turned down a beaten path, the weathered barn quickly illuminating in the headlights as they approached. There were no other cars in sight; the lights inside of the house were off as well. She bit the inside of cheek so hard, her mouth filled with the taste of pennies. There were about a dozen ways this night could end and of course she chose to focus on the worst one possible.

A few yards away from the barn, Dessie stopped the car then killed the engine. He wasted no time unclipping his belt, stepping out into the frigid air. Catherine was unmoving. She couldn't think, couldn't speak.

"C'mon," he barked, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat. "It's fuckin' baltic an' I'm freezin' my nuts off."

Nine out of ten times a comment as such would've made Catherine laugh. She was so afraid, she thought she would be sick. Not wanting to make him wait any longer, she somehow mustered the courage to take off her seatbelt and exit the car.

He began to walk ahead of her towards the barn. She was thankful it was so cold that he'd think her shivering was due to the freezing temperature and not her nerves. The closer they go to the barn, the more lightheaded she became.

Dessie opened the side door and moved aside to allow her to enter first. She was hit with the pungent aroma of cigarette smoke which told her they weren't alone; she just couldn't see the others thanks to the blinding darkness.

Hay snapped under her boots as she shuffled forward. Without so much as a warning, Dessie flipped on the bright overhead lights. When her eyes finally adjusted, Catherine was shocked to see Patrick and Seamus. A handful of the south Armagh and Belfast lads, too.

"What the hell is goin' on here?" Catherine demanded. She felt like an antelope being scoped by lions who were waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.

Seamus Doherty, who was supposed to be in Dundalk by now, leaned his back against the workbench. "Caught wind the ISU is meetin' with Jimmy tomorrow. That true?"

"Aye," she answered.

"Any way you can delay it?" Patrick inquired.

Catherine shook her head. "I can't; believe me when I say I've already tried. The Kings want me back in my old position."

Collective groans of "shite," "fuck," and "bastards," erupted. If she wasn't confused already, she certainly was now.

"I don't understand what-"

"They're afraid of ya, Catherine," Dessie spouted.

Rory Quinn backed him up. "Aye, he's not blowin' smoke up your arse. When Jimmy an' Donny were hauled down to Maghaberry, O'Shay came to Cross wit' Borgan an' sat down with Dessie."

Patrick watched Catherine use both hands to push her hair out of her face. His heart sank for her; she'd worked so hard to climb the leadership ladder only to have the Kings try to rip it right out from under her. Having been in jail while all of this happened, Patrick felt utterly useless to her. He was a failure in his mind—a man who couldn't even protect his daughter from the world beating her down.

"They attempted to go over my head, didn't they? Wanted you to be chief of staff instead," she asked Dessie.

He nodded; his expression a mixture of empathy and animosity. "I turned 'em down without a second thought. You bloody earned it, not me."

"Why would they do that?"

"It's obvious," snorted Patrick. "Two years ago, ya approved a mortar attack on the peelers in Craigavon as ya were walkin' out of a meetin' where they told ya no more blood."

Dessie jumped in. "You're just like Darragh, Catherine. Ya want peace, an' the violence to end so fuckin' bad, but your anger over injustices gets the better of ya. Ya need to stop wit' this half-in, half-out bullshit 'cause Óglaigh na hÉireann needs ya more than we need Jimmy."

"There's no way Jimmy'll let me take over ONH-"

"When we say Óglaigh na hÉireann, we're talkin' about the True army," Seamus interrupted.

"Aye," Patrick agreed. "Jimmy and the Kings don't give a shite about cause anymore. For the last couple'a years it's only been about the money, which we all know is somethin' you couldn't care less about. I couldn't be prouder that you never once lost sight of what the cause stands for. You've over a hundred men standin' behind ya, Catherine, all itchin' for a leadership change."

"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ," Catherine groaned.

She rested her hands on her hips as the weight of their words fell on her all at once. What they were asking of her was dangerous. No one ever attempted a coup within the army as it would end in certain death if failed. It didn't matter if she had one or one-hundred men behind her; they'd all face the same fallout. They were expendable. It wouldn't take long for Jimmy to find a fresh batch of eager and angry teenagers, ready to be indoctrinated with his view of the cause.

"I don't know," Catherine muttered. "T'would be less dangerous if we formed ONH with Jimmy and his contacts, then forced him out."

One of the other Belfast lads said, "We want out of the gun runnin', too. We've families to take care of an' it's only a matter of time before MI5 closes in on us. Jimmy's the only one cashin' in on the profits while the rest of us are strugglin' to put food on the table. It makes sense for all of us to be gettin' in on the petrol and fags business wit' the south Armagh fellas."

She couldn't disagree. Since re-joining the Ra, gun trafficking was the one aspect of the job which kept her up at night. In the past, she came up with several feasible plans that could make nearly the same amount of money the guns brought in.

Patrick was right though. Jimmy only cared about the money. He wouldn't even entertain the idea of nixing the gun trade because Benjamin's all but rained from the sky and into his pockets.

As for the Kings, she wasn't frustrated because they'd put them all on a tight leash when it came to doing what they volunteered to do. Her grudge was personal; she wouldn't stop until their bodies were found just as mutilated as Darragh's was.

But two little boys depended on her, which was exactly why she kept her emotions in check. She knew she had the brain and man-power to bring the True army to the ground, just like Darragh. She just wished the men standing before her understood that unlike Darragh, Catherine didn't love Ireland as much as she loved her sons. Staying alive was goal number one.

"Jimmy, the Kings; they'll kill me," she blurted. "And there are two wee boys in Dundalk who've already lost their father—they can't lose me, too. I refuse to leave behind orphans, so I can't be the one to lead this...this rebellion. You may lose respect for me, but I won't apologize for bein' a mother first."

She could feel the thick bitter tension growing between her and her men. They hadn't expected her to respond this way.

Catherine refused to hang her head. There wasn't a single ounce of guilt pumping through her veins, but she detested Patrick's hard stare. His eyes sheened with a disappointment she'd never seen before. Out of everyone, she thought he'd be the one to understand.

Dessie cleared his throat. "C'mon, Catherine. We should be headin' for the border."

* * *

**Dundalk, Republic of Ireland **

Jimmy couldn't sleep. At least, not until Catherine made it to the safe house.

With the boys sound asleep upstairs, he sat on the couch chain-smoking and nursing a bottle of whiskey. He couldn't even bring himself to turn on the television, afraid he'd see a breaking news story about four IRA members who'd been either arrested or killed.

His knees bouncing, Jimmy flipped open his phone for about the five-hundredth time in the last hour.

No messages.

Crushing his cigarette out in the overflowing ashtray, he checked the time. It was nearly eleven o'clock, well over two hours past the time Catherine and Dessie expected to be in Dundalk. Typically, her being late wasn't enough to fry his nerves. It was the fact he'd caught wind Seamus and Rory hadn't made it to their safe house yet, either. The only one to make it was the third lad Dessie brought along, but he opted for a place in county Donegal instead.

At this point, it wouldn't surprise Jimmy if they were picked up at the border.

Plucking the bottle, he poured himself another three-fingers. He polished it off in one go, welcoming the intense burn in his stomach and throat. No amount of liquor could settle his nerves at this point.

Thankfully, he didn't have to suffer much longer because the door swung open before he even had a chance to set the glass down.

Dessie walked in first with Catherine close behind.

"Give us a minute, Dess?" asked Jimmy as he lit a smoke.

Dessie's gaze ping-ponged between Catherine and Jimmy. He didn't want to leave her alone, but her stiff posture along with a hard expression made him confident she wasn't going to let Jimmy push her around. Just to be on the safe side though, he'd leave the bedroom door cracked. He bid the pair goodnight then headed upstairs.

"Sit down." Jimmy lazily tossed his thumb in the direction of the space on the sofa.

Catherine wasn't too sure if she wanted to be sitting next to him, considering he was probably still angry at what she said to him earlier. It was actually in her best interest to do exactly as he said. There was no use in riling him up even more.

Lumbering over to the sofa, Catherine sat down. She crossed her legs and then her arms across her chest. She stared straight ahead at a painting on the wall, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had her full attention.

"How'd it go? Any issues?"

"No complications. And contrary to what ya said back in Belfast, all of the fellas listened to every goddamn order I gave."

Jimmy dropped his head. "Look, Catherine. What I said was a cheap-shot and I'm sorry; I am. You're a fine soldier with a long list of accomplishments, so it's unfair for anyone—includin' myself—to doubt you because you're a young woman."

The sincerity in words seemed genuine, but Catherine only half-accepted his apology. She sensed a 'but' was coming, and she was right.

After she pulled the rank card on him, Jimmy realized he allowed her to climb the ranks too high and too quickly for someone her age.

At seventeen, she was helping to smuggle shipments of cigarettes and petrol—well before she'd even sat through her first _Green Book _lecture. At twenty, she sat in on her first distribution deal in Moscow. Less than two years later, Catherine began to traffic hundreds-of-thousands of dollars' worth of weaponry internationally. Just before thirty, she got a taste of what it's like to hold the highest position in the army outside of the council.

Perhaps it was time to humble her, Jimmy decided.

"But," she said, digging her fingernails into the palms of her hands.

"But, ya disappointed me and proved you're not even close to bein' ready for a top leadership position. When you're at the top, you cannot let your emotions get the best of you like that."

Catherine turned her neck so she could look at Jimmy. He was busy pouring himself more whiskey so he missed the expression of utter disbelief on her face. She wanted to scream. Did he really just chastise her for losing her cool?

The man who was literally feared for his outbursts was lecturing her on getting overemotional.

Surely he saw the irony.

She had far more restraint than he was giving her credit for. When all she wanted to do was slap him and call him a self-absorbed prick, she remained calm.

"Tomorrow," he coughed after a sip of whiskey, "after I meet with the ISU and get reinstated, I'm gonna move ya down to Liam's former unit; you can take over your brother's responsibilities until Walsh can find a lad."

"Fuck you, Jimmy," she jeered. She ignored the stinging pressure of tears in her eyes. After everything she's done for him, Catherine couldn't believe he was severely demoting her—he was completely taking away her officer status.

"Quit with the dramatics. It's nothin' personal-"

"Nothin' personal? It's every bit personal! What is this really about? Are ya really that thin-skinned ya can't handle me gettin' mouthy with ya? Or are ya fuckin' scared, Jimmy? Scared just like the Kings, because youse know I can do the job far better than ya thought, and the fellas like me far more than they ever liked you."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth, Catherine Mary."

"Why? What are ya gonna do to me, huh? Collude to have me taken out by the UVF, just like ya did with Darragh?"

The moment those words passed through her lips, Catherine felt the fear of God instill. Jimmy dropped his glass of whiskey, not caring in the slightest the amber liquor puddled on the hardwood. He grabbed Catherine by the collar of her sweater and pulled her down onto the floor. As she struggled with him, the legs of the coffee table screeched on the floor. Thankfully the sounds of their grapple didn't make it all the way upstairs and alert Dessie or wake up the boys.

Eventually, Jimmy managed to straddle her hips before pinning her arms above her head.

"What the fuck did ya say?" He was out of breath, as was she.

"I know it was you," she cried, tears bursting from her eyes. "You and the Kings voted to have Simon Townsend assassinated and Darragh was the fuckin' sacrificial lamb."

"Who fuckin' told you that? I found out only like, two years ago the Kings were behind Townsend's shootin', and I swear to God, Catherine, I had no idea they voted to hand over Darragh. If I had, I would've voted it down!"

She only cried harder, shaking her head and thrashing her body. "I don't believe you! You hated Darragh, ya wanted him dead. You even told me you'd make his face look like a scratch compared to Filip's and that's exactly what happened."

Well, shit. Jimmy couldn't deny he threatened Darragh on more than one occasion. He understood how damning this all seemed, but the truth was, he didn't know. This was the first time he was hearing the Kings voted on Darragh as retaliation.

Jimmy didn't have the heart to tell her it all made sense though. Once upon a time, Darragh had been Galen O'Shay's pride and joy but eventually, he grew to be a throne in the King's sides. The blatant disregard for the order of no operations, his early development of a faction organization. Jimmy guessed it was the car bomb in which Darragh masterminded that put the final nail into his coffin.

He was more focused on finding out who was filling her head with nonsensical lies about him.

"Who told ya this?"

"Liam," she hiccupped, "and he has no reason to lie to me!"

"What exactly did he tell you?"

Catherine never heard his voice sound so frantic before.

"That...he said that the Kings decided to have Townsend taken out, and then voted to hand Darragh over to the UVF. I'm not stupid, Jimmy, you know everythin' that happens so there's no fuckin' way you weren't privy to what they were up to!"

"I had no fuckin' idea!"

Catherine managed to get one of her wrists free, but before she could connect the slap she intended to give him, Jimmy caught it again.

"You did know! How could you not?" She struggled again, but he was far stronger.

"Would you just stop and fuckin' listen to me?" he vented. He forced her arms back on the floor above her head. It didn't take long for her to calm down; at least she stopped crying. "I didn't know - that's God's honest truth. As a soldier, you're right, I fuckin' hated Darragh. He was radical and reckless. But as a man...I respected every bone in his body. When I told ya I would make his face look worse than Filip's, I was talkin' shite. I was pissed beyond belief he was raisin' my boy but at the end of the day, Darragh made you happy and you bein' happy is all I've ever fuckin' cared about. If I'd known what the Kings were up to, I would'a told him; if they told me after the fact, I would'a told ya myself."

It shredded Jimmy to pieces watching her jaw tremble and the tears bubbling in the corners of her eyes. He tried blinking back the tears stinging his eyes.

"I hated him because I couldn't make you as happy as Darragh did. Since he died, you've only been a shell of yourself and I hate seein' ya like this. I promise on my boy's life I would have made sure the four of youse got out of Ireland if I was privy to their plans. I've done a lot of fuckin' shitty things to you, but I would never betray you like that, a chuisle."

Catherine swallowed the tight painful lump in her throat and squeezed her eyes shut. As she vigorously shook her head, tears leaked from her eyes into her hair.

Hearing him admit that felt like a thousand daggers to the chest. She wanted to throw up. He would have done anything to preserve her family, despite the bad blood Jimmy and Darragh felt towards one another. And what did she do to him? She ran to the Kings and spilled a secret Jimmy trusted her to hold onto.

Catherine hated herself for thinking she could trust the council.

Jimmy didn't betray her, but she was disloyal to him.

She began to squirm under him as the weight of her sin crushed her heart and soul. He was honest with her, she needed to be honest with him.

"I'm so sorry, Jimmy!" she cried. "I told the council about Óglaigh na hÉireann and the deal with the Putlova."

Jimmy's breath hitched in his throat, his heart seized. Did she just say what he thought she did?

"Are you outta your fuckin' mind? Why...why would ya fuckin' do such a foolish thing?" he demanded through clenched teeth.

Catherine's face pulsated from the blood pounding in her head. She expected him to sucker punch her; at least pull her hair. While his reddened face and snarl, plus the throbbing vein in his forehead all pointed to indignation like none other, all Jimmy did was tighten his grip on her wrists.

She panicked and twisted the truth, "They confronted me about my affair with Ian and I was so angry ya told 'em, I wanted to hurt you just like-"

"I didn't fuckin' tell 'em about you and Ian, you stupid cunt! You're vapid if you think the Kings don't have touts inside the PSNI. If you did your job as an intelligence officer instead of thinkin' with your cunt all the time, ya would'a found out he's one of 'em! That half-breed wants in the IRA so fuckin' badly he'd suck my cock if I told him that's what it would take to get a beret."

"But they told me it was you!"

"I and your da have been tellin' ya for years those blood-suckers aren't to be trusted—don't you dare even try to claim naivety. It breaks my heart to hear ya thought I'd rat on ya in the first place, but it fuckin' disgusts me to know you're a tout just like that double-cross brother of yours."

Jimmy let go of Catherine and fell to his ass on the floor. He rested his back against the couch and reached for the bottle of whiskey sitting on the table. He didn't care the spilled liquor from earlier soaked through his trousers. Bringing the lip of the bottle to his mouth, he swigged two mouthfuls.

Catherine immediately rose to her knees, feeling even more contrite than she thought she would. The way he held back his anger and didn't physically take it out on her left her with a messy flurry of emotions she had no idea how to process.

"Please forgive me, Jimmy. I was scared and angry and confused." She gently placed her hand on his bicep, but Jimmy responded by pushing her away with enough force she fell on her ass.

"Don't you fuckin' touch me," he snapped. "You need to get outta my sight while I figure out whether or not you get to keep your beret. The only thing stoppin' me from squeezin' your goddamn neck with razor wire right now is the fact you're my son's mother."

Catherine scrambled to her feet. From the corner of his eye, Jimmy watched her wipe the tears away from her blotched cheeks as she scuffled up the stairs.

Drawing his knees to his chest, he wrapped his arms around his legs. He dropped his head and for the first time in nearly seven years, Jimmy cried.


	53. Steel Wool and Rusty Bullets

Jimmy stood in the doorway of a bedroom, staring at the sleeping form tangled in the sheets. The corner of his mouth twitched and he fought the urge to smile. But he couldn't help it, despite how pissed he was.

Catherine's snoring had always been something he found comical. He wondered how such a heavy snort could come from such a pretty little thing like her. Lying on her stomach and snuggled up with Eamonn's Spiderman pillow, Jimmy gawked at the ivory flesh of her ample ass peeking out from the bottom of her tiny shorts. A loose t-shirt hung unshapely on her top half, but he knew damn well deliciously thick Pilates toned curves were hidden underneath.

It was sinful really, the fact Jimmy could only think of doing unholy and lewd acts to her body. He'd make Catherine pay for her treasonous behavior alright, though the repercussions would take form in ways she wasn't quite accustomed to.

Shaking depraved thoughts from his head, Jimmy picked up the bucket of water he filled with the hose outside. He took two steps into the room then hurled the freezing water over her body.

Catherine sprang to life, jumping nearly three feet into the air. She yelped, scrambling out of the soaked bed.

"What the fuck is wrong with ya?" she screamed.

Not giving much thought to it, she quickly started stripping from her wet clothes.

Even though her naked body was on display with those taut delicate pink nipples just begging to be sucked, Jimmy somehow managed to keep his attention forward. He dropped the empty bucket, his features remaining unchanged.

"Get dressed. We're leavin' in fifteen minutes."

"Where we goin'?"

Jimmy shrugged and Catherine then understood she hadn't just been demoted to a rank-and-file volunteer. She was back to being treated as a meek recruit.

They held each other's gaze, the tension so thick it could be cut with a knife. He watched as her jaw and temples flexed, making it obvious she was trying to swallow words which would more than likely sink her further into the hole she dug herself. Catherine had no other choice but to comply with his orders, regardless of her still technically being in charge.

"What about Eamonn and Sean?" she asked, pulling on a dry tank top.

"They're comin' with."

"Absolutely not," Catherine sternly argued. "My boys will not grow up the way I did, where bein' around men in balaclavas is just a normal goddamn weekend! Besides, you've demoted me so far down the bloody chain there's no need for me to be there with you."

He closed the door and space between them. When he raised his hand, Catherine flinched. Her heart nearly burst from relief when he placed it on the side of her neck rather than smacking her as she thought. He stroked her jaw with his outstretched thumb.

"What's wrong with the way you grew up, a chuisle?"

She felt it was a trick question, but she answered, "You will not be teachin' 'em how to make gelignite or that addin' bicarb soda to a petrol bomb will practically create napalm."

"You expect me not to pass down any of that useful information?"

"It's not useful, Jimmy. Those boys are goin' to university in America or England and will _never _know this life."

He pursed his lips, realizing it was a dig at him. Catherine liked to remind him quite often that she resented the fact he convinced her not to attend Queens.

"Feel free to guide Sean down that path, but my boy will never attend an English university. Eamonn'll serve in the Irish Defense Force and then he will wear the black beret."

"Joinin' the Irish _or_ British armies'll be no one's decision but Eamonn's. As for him swearin' into this dyin' fight, that'll happen over my dead body."

Jimmy smirked. "Very poor choice of words, because that can be arranged."

Everyone else would cower hearing him spew those words. Catherine had the advantage of knowing Jimmy far better than anyone else in the world. She'd seen the murderous twinkle in his eye before, though she realized it had never once been there no matter how angry he became at her.

"You can't kill me," she whispered, alluringly brushing her tongue along his lower lip. "Even if ya tired, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You'll hesitate. Again."

The single act of seduction nearly brought Jimmy to his knees. Catherine wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her fingers in his hair before closing her mouth over his. Her tongue slipped passed his lips where it intertwined with his. Jimmy took a sharp breath as one of his hands crawled down her back. When Catherine felt it slip under the waistband of her underwear and grope her ass, she broke the kiss.

"Get out," she demanded. "I gotta get dressed."

He was flustered and frustrated. "Not until ya do somethin' about the hard-on you've given me."

Placing her hands on his chest, Catherine walked him backward. She reached around him and twisted the doorknob, pushing him out once the door was open. "I'll be ready to go in five minutes, take care of it yourself."

* * *

The old wooden steps creaked beneath Jimmy's shoes as he jogged down. Before he could reach the bottom, Eamonn and Sean ambushed.

"Is there time for you to kick around the football with us before we leave?" Eamonn asked, a green, white, and orange ball tucked under his small arm.

Jimmy detested the pleading looks on both their faces, not wanting to disappoint them after having been gone for weeks without the slightest explanation. He glanced over at Dessie who was sitting on the couch with a cup of coffee as he watched the morning news coverage on the shooting death of a police officer in Belfast the previous night. Seeing Dessie sparked Jimmy's memory of the condoms he found in Catherine's nightstand. Pushing back the sleeve of his suit jacket, he looked at his watch.

"Aye," he said, hopping off the last step and guiding the boys outside.

As he kicked the ball with them, Jimmy was more focused on how to bring up the question of which IRA lads were coming around more than usual. A part of him didn't even want to ask, fearing his suspicions of Dessie sliding in were true. Ever since Catherine let it slip years ago she was mildly attracted to Dessie, Jimmy couldn't squash his jealousy.

Several years younger than Jimmy, Dessie was just as dangerously handsome as Darragh. He wasn't as tall or as built, but it was painfully obviously Catherine had a type—unapologetically masculine with dark hair and eyes, a fondness for tattoos.

"When I was gone, did any of the fellas come over to see your ma?" Jimmy kicked the ball to Sean, keeping his eye close on Eamonn's body language.

His light brows furrowed, clearly thinking back. "Uncle Brien came over a lot with Padraic. Seamus and Dessie, too."

"Dessie come over a lot?"

"Sometimes he'll come over before bedtime, sometimes Mammy takes us to see him in Crossmaglen-"

Sean interrupted his brother, "It's fun goin' there 'cause he taught us how to hit cans with rocks usin' a slingshot."

Jimmy couldn't care less about Catherine letting Dessie teach them how to use a slingshot when she made such a scene about them being around that kind of activity earlier. What he was more focused on was how she managed to spend weekends in Crossmaglen without him hearing about it. She'd only told him she was taking the boys to either Dundalk or Donegal when in reality she wasn't even leaving the six counties. That meant one thing—the south Armagh men were purposely being selective with who they told that information to.

And their intention wasn't to protect Catherine.

* * *

They pulled up to the same house tucked away in the Irish countryside where Catherine experienced her very first debriefing.

The flood of cars in the gravel driveway didn't surprise her one bit. A shipment of cigarettes was expected to come through the port in Dublin later that afternoon and the seclusion of this place made it perfect to solidify the plans one last time. Considering Belfast was still buzzing after the officer's shooting, no one felt comfortable crossing the border during the daylight hours just yet, forcing them to conduct all business in the Republic.

Jimmy parked behind a Ford with no license plates and killed the engine. Catherine looked into the backseat at Eamonn and Sean who passively arguing over who got to hold the football. To some extent, she felt comfortable having them with her, because at least then Jimmy would be on his best behavior.

On the flip side, this was the first time they were being thrust into the confusing and often terrifying world that the IRA. She worried how they'd react to it, but they needed to be warned just as Patrick had warned her the first time he brought her to a safe house.

Reaching back, Catherine grabbed the football from Sean. Needless to say, that got their attention and she shushed then, telling them to listen carefully. "When we go inside, youse are to not ask any questions about or repeat anythin' ya hear. This isn't playtime like it usually is when youse see the fellas—it's serious work, and Jimmy and I'll be busy so we won't be able to help with anythin'. All I want ya doin' is either quietly watchin' television, or playin' outside. Am I clear?"

It wasn't often Catherine became stern with them, so when she did they knew she meant business. After they nodded, she handed the ball back. Once the boys scrambled out of the car, Catherine and Jimmy followed.

"Not gonna lie," Jimmy chuckled, "watchin' ya get all serious with 'em like that is fuckin' sexy, so it is."

"Ya know, I'd call you a liar, but ya do get hot and bothered watchin' me scrub the floor."

"I'm a man; I can't help it that my mind goes to one thing when I see ya on your hands and knees."

Rolling her eyes, she jogged off to catch up with Eamonn and Sean.

Jimmy entered the house first, with Catherine and the boys behind.

Eamonn quickly dropped Catherine's hand, curling his fingers into the cotton of her sweater. He stood behind her, only poking his head out enough to catch a glimpse of the six supremely intimidating men who were dressed in their commando sweaters and camo pants; balaclavas covering their faces.

While Sean didn't let go of her hand, she could feel the grip he had on her tighten. He became unusually shy, pressing his forehead into her thigh.

Now Catherine understood why Patrick introduced her and her brothers to this world so early on. By the time she was Sean's age, seeing this didn't faze her one bit.

Jimmy turned back and noticed how uncomfortable they were, too. He was irritated with Catherine for having kept the boys on the sidelines, never introducing them to the defining aspect of their parent's lives. The last thing he wanted was for Eamonn to be frightened of the army he prayed his son would one day inherit.

"Doherty," Jimmy called out, garnering the man's attention. "Take the boys outside, yeah?"

Seamus looked passed Jimmy and right to Catherine. Until Jimmy was officially brought back to active status following his meeting with the security unit, he refused to follow any orders given to him anyone other than her. Silently, she bobbed her head once, and Seamus gently ushered the boys outside to play.

When the front door closed behind them, she hissed, "That's why I didn't wanna bring 'em."

Jimmy ignored her.

"We're ready whenever you are," said one of the masked men.

Jimmy turned around to find Donny standing behind him. "Did ya bring what I asked for?"

"Aye, it's on the kitchen table."

"Brilliant; youse head up with Donny and get started, I'll be up in a minute."

Catherine didn't hide her smug smile when the six uniformed men didn't budge—they too only took orders from their chief of staff. As for Jimmy, he felt like he was in the twilight zone. Only when she dismissed them did they head up the stairs with Donny.

Turning his head, Jimmy glared at her. If looks could kill, she'd drop dead right there.

"Follow me," he ordered.

Following Jimmy into the kitchen, Catherine guessed whatever coming her way was going to be extremely unpleasant.

She wasn't wrong.

On the table sat an old shoebox, and he flipped the top off before dumping out the contents; a heap of rusty, mismatched bullets she was sure had been dug up from arms dumps God knows how long ago. Holding a hard stare, Jimmy plopped a wad of steel wool into her hand.

"Clean 'em."

This wasn't just punishment, Catherine realized. It was also a test.

A test of just how sorry she was.

The steel wool in hand, she sat down in front of the pile of bullets. Picking one up, she started scrubbing.

He began walking towards the stairs, but halfway out of the kitchen Jimmy turned around and called out Catherine's name. She looked up at him, her expression was that of raw contrition. He held himself with arrogance, asking, "Who's the bitch now?"

Swallowing her pride, Catherine refused to allow his words to upset her.

* * *

Forty minutes later, Dessie showed up with the majority of his crew. As she sat in the kitchen still scrubbing those bullets, she never felt more humiliated. When he saw she was doing the menial work set aside as an initiation ritual for recruits, Dessie sent his guys into the other room.

"Why the hell are you doin' this?"

Catherine couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze, because she worried she would cry if she did. Nor did she trust her voice, so she didn't answer him.

Dessie reached out and grabbed her hands to stop her from working. She focused on the intricate tattoo of a rosary—the beads wrapped around his forearm and wrist, the cross resting on the top of his hand.

"Because I vowed to obey _all _orders given to me by a superior officer."

"Unbelievable. What a fuckin' prick," he muttered as smoke blew from his nostrils. Dessie stubbed out his cigarette and pulled the butterfly knife from his boot. He took the steel wool from Catherine, cutting it in half.

Keeping one for himself, he handed her the other.

Together, they scoured.

To break the silence, Catherine began to sing, "I'll sing a song, of the bravest men; the famous fightin' unit from Armagh. They are the men from Crossmaglen, among the bravest Irelands ever saw."

"At night you hear bazookas roar, Armalites are heard across the land. The IRA, their spirits soar, they know the reckonin' has come to hand."

Catherine and Dessie turned around then they heard a choir of voices fill the kitchen. "In Crossmaglen, the fire burns true—the patriotic flame'll never die. And when you hear the battle cry, it will be the fightin' men of Crossmaglen!"

The rest of his crew sang along to the rebel tune, sitting down at the table to help scrub bullets.


	54. Daddy Issues

"What the fuck is this?"

The banter and laughter around the table came to an abrupt end. Catherine hoisted Sean off her lap, quietly telling him to rejoin his brother outside with Seamus. The sixteen men from Crossmaglen simultaneously looked to their brigade commander, who leaned back in his chair. Dessie crossed his arms over his chest, an expression that dared Jimmy to say something to him was glued on his face.

At the moment Catherine greatly appreciated the help, though now it seemed like a major mistake. She knew better and should have shooed them away. She worried Jimmy would come up with a colorful way to punish them for their good deeds.

"It's my fault," Catherine spoke up. "I asked for their help."

Dessie shot her a _shut your goddamn mouth_ kind of look, then turned back to Jimmy. "No, she didn't. I saw her workin' alone an' ordered my guys to help."

"Aye. That's what happened, Jimmy. Didn't mean any harm." Rory Quinn backed up his OC's claim.

Jimmy turned his attention to Catherine. Her features softened, while he remained rigid. He knew the men were lying right to his face but there wasn't a single thing he could do about it. Well, he could make all of the units do some menial labor, however, all that would do is make him appear jaded and petty.

What the hell changed during the weeks he was in prison?

Now he was starting to second guess his decision to demote her. Jimmy genuinely worried they'd all turn against him if they found out she was no longer part of the leadership.

This wasn't a battle worth fighting. Strutting to the table, he kicked Catherine out of her chair and occupied it. Dessie offered her his seat but she refused, opting to rest her back against the wall with the others.

"What's the plan for tonight, Dess?" Jimmy asked.

"Same plan of action as the other day. Jack and Aidan, youse are in charge of gettin' the vans to the timber yard. As for the rest of ya, just make sure you get there before six." He snapped his fingers then pointed to Catherine. "You're drivin' down to Dublin with me, Jimmy an' Donny'll follow to help keep an eye on the lorry an' make the container makes it the yard."

If she were taking over Liam's old responsibilities, then she had no business driving down to Dublin. She would be the scout driver-getting the vans safely over the border and to the farm in Forkhill.

"Jimmy said-"

Jimmy stopped her before she could repeat what he said last night. "It's Dessie's call. He wants ya to drive down with him, you will."

Plus it would offer the perfect chance for him to see how they interact with one another.

Dessie wished Catherine and Jimmy would find a new sort of foreplay. It was painfully obvious they were back to screwing around, and the way they bickered, purposely creating sexual tension between was making everyone in the room uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat and glanced at the clock on the stove. "I gotta reach out to my contact at the port an' get an ETA on the cargo ship from Boston. How about we break for lunch, then come back an' hammer out a route to Forkhill?"

At the mere mention of food, Catherine's stomach rumbled. Feeding nearly twenty insatiable Irishmen would get her mind off Jimmy for a bit.

* * *

Eamonn and Sean were in the living room watching cartoons, while Catherine washed the dishes from lunch. Jimmy sat at the table flipping through that morning's issue of the _Times, _while Dessie and his crew were outside swapping license plates on the cars set to be used for the transport.

Closing the paper, he stood and quietly pushed in the chair. He walked up behind her, reached over her shoulder, snagging the wet plate from her hand.

"What are ya-"

"Stop talkin'," he ordered, dropping the plate into the sink and shutting off the water. He pushed her hair off her neck, then brought his lips close to her ear. "Do you trust me?"

Catherine felt sick to her stomach. She hated these mental games Jimmy was playing with her and wished he'd just beat her bloody and call it a day already. Her gut was telling her to get away from him, but he pressed himself against her as well as placed his hands on the counter so she was essentially trapped.

Silently, she prayed one of the boys would walk in, forcing Jimmy to derail whatever plan he had in mind.

When she didn't answer fast enough, he asked again, "Do you trust me?"

This time, his words were lower, more drawn out.

Catherine's veins pumped ice.

She muttered, "Aye."

"Dead-on."

In swift motions, before Catherine even had a chance to register what was happening, Jimmy tightly wrapped his hands around her wrist. He forced it onto the counter. Next, he dug into the pocket of his trousers and held a switchblade in front of her face. His thumb pressed the black button on the matte blue handle, causing the sharp blade to spring to life.

"Spread your fingers."

"No...no," she stammered. "Your son is just in the other room, so he is."

"He's fine. Now, spread your goddamn fingers."

When she started to writhe, Jimmy pressed himself even closer against Catherine to keep her still. He understood her apprehension; he'd been just as fearful the first time something like this happened to him. Expect, he was going easy on her. When he first joined the Republican Army, trust-building exercises weren't as tame - the chemical burn on his back was evidence of such.

Maybe if he had forced her to endure the torturesome pain of a lye burn when she was a recruit, she never would have two-timed him.

"I thought you trust me, a chuisle. Or were you just lyin'?"

"Why are ya doin' this? Why not just take my beret and let that be the end of it?"

"Because I don't wanna take your beret. A lot of people have been tryin' to turn you against me for a very long time now, so I can't blame you for cavin' under their manipulation. What does worry me though, is that you've lost trust in me, and I can't trust you if you don't trust me. In our world, ya know exactly what happens when there's uncertainty. For our boy's sake, neither of us can end up in jail or dead."

"I'm sorry, I'm so fuckin' sorry for what I said to the council, and I do trust ya, just as I promise ya you can trust me."

"Then relax." Jimmy tenderly kissed her temple. "And prove it to me. Spread your fingers, Catherine; I promise I won't hurt ya."

She was so desperate to once again be in Jimmy's good grace. If this is what it took to get there, this was exactly what she'd do. Taking a shuttering breath, Catherine tried as best she could to relax against him. She uncurled her fingers from under her palm and flattened them out so there was ample space between them.

With his grip still tight around her wrist, Jimmy readjusted the knife in his hand. "Just relax and most importantly, breathe."

_Yeah, okay,_ Catherine thought. That was far easier said than done when all she kept thinking about was that knife slipping and stabbing right through her hand.

He started slowly, moving the knife side-to-side between her fingers. Catherine watched fearfully as he sped up, his pattern becoming random and unpredictable. Jimmy could feel her trembling against him and refused to allow her nerves to distract him—he was so focused on not fucking up, remaining in control.

God forbid he did puncture her, she didn't want to see it coming. Yet for some reason, she couldn't tear her eyes away.

From the living room, she could hear the cartoons the boys were watching. From the open window, she could hear the guys goofing around outside. But the only sound she focused on was the tip of the blade hitting the countertop.

Her heart pounded so hard, Catherine started to see stars.

The longer it went on, the closer to tears she became. Adrenaline was running so high in her blood, an anxiety attack was bubbling to the surface. She wanted to scream out and tell him to stop, but she was afraid if she did then he'd lose his edge.

Only when Eamonn's sweet laugh carried into the kitchen did he stop. Dropping the knife on the counter, Jimmy also released her wrist. He wrapped her tight in his arms as she turned around and buried her face into his chest.

Over and over she apologized, her tears starting to dampen his black shirt. Jimmy was still so numb to it all, he wasn't sure if he could believe her words.

"Am I interruptin'?" Donny roared from the doorway.

Catherine pulled her face from his chest, pushing her hair behind her ears while sniffling. She turned on the water again so she could splash her face with cold water.

Jimmy grabbed the knife, closed the blade, and slipped it back into his pocket. "Not at all. What's up?"

"Paddy's on his way to the safe house to stay with the boys. We should be headin' over there to drop 'em off and change."

"Ya wanna come with, a chuisle? See your da."

She shook her head. While she would like the chance to see Patrick, she needed some time apart from Jimmy. "No, you go and take the boys. I'll stay back and help Dessie; haven't done this in so long I'm afraid I'll be rusty."

Jimmy found himself wishing he hadn't asked Eamonn and Sean about Dessie spending time with Catherine. The second she said his name, all Jimmy could imagine was Dessie pounding her quick and hard in the bathroom once he left. Those images left him feeling lightheaded and heartbroken. He had to convince himself his imagination was wrong; she was telling the truth and when he arrived back he'd find her loading duffles with rifle magazines, sans post-orgasm flush.

Drying her hands, she weakly smiled. All she wanted was to hug her boys and smother them with kisses. She always dreaded saying goodbye to them.

* * *

The Dublin port was a well organized and heavy-duty logistics enterprise. Green, blue, yellow, and orange shipping containers were stacked four high with the help of automated cranes that ran nonstop in the terminal.

Across the road from where the never-ending parade of trucks carrying those containers came in and out of the port, sat two sedans. A rusted chainlink fence separated them from an oil tank field and a collection of peeling, rundown industrial buildings with smashed windows and weather-beaten fascias.

In the driver's seat of the second Ford Focus, Catherine popped her bubblegum as she flipped through the pages of the _Cosmopolitan _magazine she picked up at a petrol station in Drogheda. Ahead of she and Dessie, was Jimmy and Donny, who undoubtedly kept their eyes glued on the port's gates, anxiously waiting to spot the truck carrying the container filled with illegally imported cigarettes.

And, a brand new Barrett rifle.

They had no idea which container their shipment was in, but they did know which truck it would be on. So, they did what they always did; sit tight and wait then follow the truck to a timber yard near the border.

Unfortunately for all involved, it was a drawn-out undertaking, requiring lots of coffee and music to keep them awake and alert. Four hours after the cargo ship had arrived in Dublin, there was still no sign of their goods.

"When it comes to sex positions, you: sometimes try different things, sometimes stick to classics. Tend to stick to a couple'a favorites or what he suggests—you're not keen on doin' anythin' too out there. Change it up every night."

"Gotta change that shite up," answered Dessie, smoke wafting from his mouth and nose.

"Last question. You're goin' down on a new guy, and he is just not into it. You: Try to switch it up—if it's still not happenin' you ask for direction. Just call it; it's not your favorite thing to begin with. Or, keep goin' and hope he gets off eventually."

"Well, seein' as to how I'm not a selfish lover, I ask for direction."

Catherine tallied up his score. "Congrats, Dess. You're pretty damn good in bed."

"I didn't need some brain-meltin' broad magazine to tell me that."

Tossing the _Cosmo_ into the backseat, she then lit a cigarette. Looking to her left, she saw Dessie staring at her with a sort of smug grin on his face.

"Oh, so I don't get to see how good you are in bed?"

"Don't be a pervert." She smiled and rolled her eyes. "Besides, you mean to tell me, Jimmy or Darragh, never once let it slip how I am in bed? Isn't shite like that what youse blabber about anyway?"

He snorted. "Please, Jimmy is about as tight-lipped as they come; never said a bloody word no matter how drunk we got him. Darragh did let slip that bein' with you is like takin' a trip to Brazil, though."

Her jaw nearly fell into her lap. "No, he didn't!"

"Aye, and considerin' I found that to be true," he took a quick drag from his cigarette, "that must mean it's also true you've a wee tattoo on that pretty arse of yours."

"He told you about that, too!"

"No, Doherty ratted ya out on the ink. Which brings me to my next question: why were ya showin' your arse to the likes of Seamus Doherty?"

Catherine covered her face with her hands. She was so embarrassed she wished she could implode and escape from this conversation altogether. Though, she did make a mental note to give Seamus a fat lip the next time she saw him for blabbing his mouth all over south Armagh.

Nor was she happy Darragh told God knows how many of her fellow volunteers about her grooming habits. Considering gossip among them traveled faster than in an all-girls grammar school, the likelihood of all six counties knowing as well, was highly probable.

Catherine decided she had no other choice but to leave Ireland to escape further embarrassment.

Firstly, she had to make something very clear. "I didn't just show him my arse if that's what he told ya. I was in Dundalk to be debriefed and we were sloshed playin' strip poker. I do have a wee tattoo of a heart on my arse, which he only saw because I was wearin' these cheeky knickers that didn't cover my bum all the way." She saw Dessie open his mouth and she was privy to what he would say. Holding up her index finger, she scolded, "I'm not showin' it to ya, so don't even ask."

"I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least try," Dessie chuckled. "Not to bring up a sore subject or anythin', but are things good with you and Jimmy? Sounded like things got kinda heated between youse last night."

She drummed her fingers on the top of the steering wheel, staring straight ahead to the car Jimmy was in. Struggling to find the words to answer, Catherine wondered if they ever would be okay again. The guilt she felt for selling him down the river was immense and she promised herself she'd make it right again. Whatever it took, she'd do with a smile on her face.

She couldn't tell him the real reason why they were fighting. "Aye. Things are just…complicated right now. My brother accidentally let it slip around Sean that Jimmy is Eamonn's da so now Eamonn knows and we're just tryin' to figure out how to make it work."

"Shite. Is it hard for you havin' Jimmy around more often? Considerin' what happened between him and Darragh."

"T'was at first, especially for like the first couple'a months after the funeral. After two years of not seein' each other or speakin', there was still a lot of built-up animosities, ya know? A few long nights of difficult conversations and a lot of brandy and tears, we were able to just get everythin' out in the air and move on. I know I had tremendous help from my parents, my brother, hell even Fiona. But honestly, I don't think I would have been able to survive as I did without Jimmy. Or you. You were the only one who didn't turn their back on me when I stepped back and joined Sinn Fein."

Dessie placed his hand on her meaty thigh, giving it a warmhearted squeeze. "They're still bitter over the Good Friday Agreement an' think every ounce of blood spilled durin' their time with the Provisional's was for nothin'…can't say I don't feel the same. What some of the fellas like Jimmy, an' even your da forget sometimes is that ya were still in nappies durin' the height of Na Trioblóidí, so they can't understand why you'd take a diplomatic approach instead of solvin' everythin' with some bullets an' gelignite."

"Do you think I'm makin' a mistake by turnin' down their offer to _overthrow _the Kings and Jimmy?"

"Nope," he said, not the slightest hint of hesitation. "Darragh had a brilliant plan—cause just enough chaos on the street-"

"The public outcry'll force the Real and Continuity armies to put pressure on us for a leadership change."

"Aye."

"Goddamn do I love that man." She smiled, but it quickly fell. "Oh shite; that means he wasn't gettin' more radical, does it? The car bomb, pipe bombs and mortars…those-"

"Those were all ploys."

Catherine rested her forehead against the steering wheel and squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to scream but she kept it locked away because she couldn't tell him what the Kings did to Darragh.

The south Armagh shipments of cigarettes and petrol provided the cash to fund the arms trade up north, so she needed Dessie's mind focused on this and only this. Once she told him, there wasn't a single doubt in her mind that's all he'd be thinking of. Considering Dessie had been part of that campaign, he deserved to know; there was a chance he'd be next.

Their attention was drawn to the fresh batch of trucks pulling out of the port and slowly moving in the direction of the motorway.

"That's the lorry," Dessie said, tossing his cigarette out the window. He rolled the window up as he popped open the glove compartment to pull out a Glock for her and his Browning pistol.

Catherine carefully took it from him, placing it in the door compartment next to her. She wanted it to be within arms reach. After starting the engine, she pulled into traffic behind Donny and Jimmy.

About a mile up the road was the container they were looking for. When they reached the tangled mess of major road junctions near the airport, where the M50 and M1 merged, they managed to close the gap and followed close behind.

Heading north, traffic thinned out significantly since they made the trip down. Catherine was grateful as it allowed them to keep the rusty green container in their sight.

"Be honest. What are ya gonna do with the Barrett?"

Catherine cheekily smiled. "Who said it's for me?"

Dessie lit a cigarette. "Please, there's only _one _person in the Ra who I know prefers the bolt-action Barrett over an automatic."

"I know you're not talkin' about me then because I'm not part of the Republican Army."

He was impressed by her ability to keep such a straight face. There was no sly grin or wink. Claiming no involvement was a lie Catherine was fully committed to. Dessie wasn't aware her skill of remaining stone-faced was beaten into her.

Getting off at the next junction, they continued for another three miles to an industrial park, which eventually turned into a timber yard.

The owner of Gavin's Timber International was on the payroll of the True army. A long-time supporter of the cause, old man Gavin enjoyed the kickbacks he received by allowing them to use his space to facilitate the cigarette trade. It also made the importing process a hell of a lot easier because when containers were marked for drop off at the timber yard, its contents was hardly ever inspected.

In the half-full parking lot beside the loading docks, Catherine backed into a space and Donny did the same. All four of them got out of their respective cars, watched as the truck backed up to a raised loading bay. Beside the truck were two unmarked white vans, their rear doors open and ready to be loaded. This shipment was considerably smaller than the usual haul; considering it was meant to help cover the costs lost to SAMCRO's warehouse burning down.

"Bet ya didn't miss this one bit, huh?" Dessie casually tossed an arm over Catherine's shoulders, pulling her closer to him as they walked.

Not thinking anything of it, Catherine wrapped her arm around his side. "Haulin' beams out of the container, not so much. But I did miss workin' with youse; never a dull moment with the south Armagh fellas."

"My offer still stands for you to join us down in Cross."

"Ya know, Dess," she chuckled, "I may just take ya up that offer one of these days."

Strolling behind Catherine and Dessie, Jimmy rolled up the sleeves of his black Aran sweater. His eyes bugged when he saw Dessie throw his arm around her, but what made him almost drop of a heart attack was how she adoringly curled her arm around him. Watching Dessie's tattooed fingers coil around the ends of her curls and by the fact she did nothing to stop him, was all Jimmy needed to convince himself what he already believed was true.

Donny slapped Jimmy on the shoulder and pointed to the sight in front of them. "You think anythin' is goin' on between 'em?"

"That girl has so many daddy issues, it wouldn't surprise me."

"At first I thought it was just a rumor, but some of the fellas from Cross said she's spending a lot of weekends down there with the boys. And durin' the week Dessie's makin' more trips than usual to Belfast."

"Funny," Jimmy said, tucking a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, "Eamonn told me the same thing."

* * *

There were twenty of them working in groups of four. They hauled the beams out of the container, stacking them under a covered area not too far from the loading bay. Halfway through, they stopped to take a break, many of them stripping down to their t-shirts despite the cold.

Sweaty and near exhaustion, Catherine shrugged out of her coat before pulling the sweatshirt over her head. As she tossed them into the pile on the ground, Jimmy tossed a critical glance in her direction. She guessed he didn't approve of her choice to wear a pushup bra with a fairly deep v-neck t-shirt.

Brushing it off, Catherine thanked Dessie for the cigarette after he lit one for her.

After their break, they got back to work. It took them just under a half-hour to finish with the beams before they hit the jackpot. Wooden crates stacked four wide, three high, two deep.

Catherine and Dessie grabbed the first one, hauling it out. They dropped it on the dusty ground just outside of the container and one of the guys handed Dessie a crowbar. He jammed it under the lid of the crate, forcing the nails free. With the help of a few other guys, they were able to free the lid.

Setting it aside, Dessie knelt and started rummaging through the hay looking for the cartons of cigarettes. Confused, he pulled the hay out.

The crate was empty.

He pointed to two of his men. "Grab another one."

As they scrambled back into the container, Jimmy, Dessie, and Catherine ping-ponged glances. While the trio was thinking the same thing, they didn't let their concern show on the surface.

When the men brought Dessie another crate, he wasted no time peeling off the lid. When he pulled the hay out of this one, it wasn't exactly empty.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," Donny blurted, "Is that a goddamn finger?"

Jumping to his feet, Dessie whipped the crowbar and kicked the crate containing some poor bloke's pinky finger. He screamed, "Fuck!"

"Ya think it was UVF or UDA?" asked Rory.

Catherine shook her head and looked to Jimmy. "Real army; has to be. This wasn't about the cigarettes to 'em, they wanted the rifle. They know we're the only ones who figured out how to move weapons through the ports."

"Why the fuck would they want a bolt-action rifle?" Dessie pondered.

"They're still usin' outdated shite from the Provisionals." Jimmy wiped the sweat from his forehead with the sleeve of his t-shirt. "What I'm more concerned about is how in the fuck did they figure out we had it comin' in today? Was this you?" He pointed to Catherine. "You been flappin' those gums to Mickey Ryan, too?"

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Catherine felt a bubble of anger burst in her belly. She took a step forward to lung at Jimmy, but before she could get anywhere near him, Dessie wrapped an arm around her middle, pushing her back.

Donny inched Jimmy backward, too, sensing it was probably a good idea to put a little distance between them. Jimmy took the cigarette from behind his ear and tucked it into the corner of his mouth, smugly smiling at Catherine from over Donny's shoulder.

Dessie took Catherine's clammy face in his sticky hands, telling her to look at him. She concentrated on his chocolate brown eyes. Gripping his wrists, she squeezed tightly. "I didn't say anythin' to Mickey, I swear I didn't!"

"I know ya didn't. He's just tryin' to get under your skin. Ya gotta let it go so you can think clearly, okay?"

Catherine nodded.

"Good," he breathed, lightly slapping her right cheek. He dropped his hands from her face, placing one on the small of her back as they rejoined the group congregated around the empty crates.

"Assumin' it was the Real army to did a bait an' switch, how the feck did they pull it off?"

"Easy," Catherine started " They tailed us, figured out which ports we use and gained their contacts inside." She turned to Dessie. "You must've caught a tail when ya met with your contact inside the port so they knew who's been coordinatin' our shipments. What better way to get someone talkin' than shootin' off their wee finger. So once they knew which container was ours, they were able to grab our shite. As far as we know, this may not even be the original container the beams shipped in."

Dessie scrubbed his face with his hands as he dropped into a squat. He felt like a complete idiot for being so careless. How could he not realize he'd been tailed? "She's right. It took us what, an hour-and-a-half to unload? The container was sitting in the port for over four hours. I'm sorry I fucked up-I didn't even have the slightest feelin' anyone was followin' me."

"It's not your fault, Dess," Rory called out. "I'm intelligence officer, this falls on me."

Catherine placed her hands on her hips. "Shite like this just happens; a few years ago we lost a shipment of AK's to 'em." She asked Jimmy, "Regardless, what do you wanna do?"

Quiet for several moments, Jimmy weighed his options. "We let it go."

Catherine didn't like that answer. She thought it would make them seem weak to the Real army. That they didn't have enough man-power to come and collect their merchandise. She knew Jimmy answered the way he did because he felt half a shipment of cigarettes and an easily replaceable rifle wasn't worth the possible bloodied outcome.

But Catherine refused to roll over and allow the Real army to walk all over them. Sure, they could procure another rifle but that meant shelling out another ten-thousand-dollars which could be spent on other resources they desperately needed.

Besides, Catherine wanted to remind the boys in Derry who ran the six counties.

Without a word, she jumped off the loading bay.

"Where do you think you're goin'?" Jimmy asked as she walked towards the vans.

Stopping mid-stride, she turned around but kept walking. "I'm not lettin' this one go. Can't steal nearly thirty-grand from us and expect nothin' to happen."

From the back of one of the vans, she grabbed an Armalite and balaclava. She slung the strap of the rifle over her shoulder, stuffing the black face-mask into the back pocket of her jeans. Jimmy walked to the edge of the loading bay, unsure whether to be mad or proud.

He couldn't allow her to do it alone, yet no one else seemed keen on joining her. If he changed his mind, Jimmy worried it would seem he lost confidence in his ability to lead, but if he didn't stop Catherine, he'd come off as spineless.

"Stand down, soldier!" he yelled. She started making her way towards the cars in the lot and was dialing a number on her phone. "That's an order, Catherine!"

Jimmy hated her for how she was humiliating him in front of his men. He hated her even more because she was right; he didn't have it in him to kill her. Had it been anyone else showing such disrespect, Jimmy would have already drawn the pistol from the waistband of his jeans.

Dessie stood next to Jimmy and slapped him between the shoulder-blades. "Fair play to her. She's got balls bigger than her daddy's."

Jumping off the bay Dessie too grabbed a rifle and balaclava, along with a small duffle of extra magazines. He walked over to the car where Catherine had a map out on the hood.

Before Jimmy knew it, all the men behind him-including Donny-were jumping off the bay.

With no other choice left, he headed to the car.

Jimmy stood off to the side, watching Catherine direct the fellas so unperturbed.

"We're right here, just south of Drogheda," she said. "That would put us under three-hours from Derry and Mickey said the lads aren't expected back until 10...if we're quick there's a chance we can close the gap before they even get there. If we can, I wanna try to nab 'em outside of Derry because they will outnumber us."

"So what's the plan?" Someone called out from the back.

"Mickey wasn't sure what route they're takin' we've no choice but to split up. Aidan and Connor, I want your units to take the A6. Jack and Kieran, youse'll take the A28/A5. I have a feelin' they'll be on the N2, so Dessie and I'll go that way with Jimmy and Donny. If we time it right, Jack and Kieran, we should be mergin' on the A5 at the same time. We're lookin' for two black vans with Irish number plates. I couldn't get the exact numbers but, it'll have a Donegal identifier."

Dessie spoke next, "If youse do end up comin' across 'em, try shootin' out the tires first. If they start shootin' back, then youse have permission to engage. Our main goal is to stop the convoy and retrieve the Barrett-I couldn't give a shite about the smokes so leave those if ya have to."

"If we make it to Ballymagorry with no sign of 'em we turn around and head back to Dundalk. Aidan and Connor, if youse make it to Dungiven, head back as well. Any questions?" she asked. They shook their heads. "Brilliant. Let's make sure there's no civilian injury or casualty, but most importantly let's make sure we all make it back to Dundalk."

"Go n-éirí leat, gentlemen. And godspeed." After wishing his men _good luck_, Dessie turned around to help Catherine fold up the map.

She pulled the car keys from her pocket and handed them to him. A smart move as he knew the border roads far better than her. Before hopping into the car, he tugged the white gold crucifix he wore around his neck out of his shirt and kissed it.

As Catherine tucked the map under her arm, she approached Jimmy. "Youse follow behind since we've got the-"

Jimmy grabbed her bicep and pushed her up against the car. His voice was low as he hissed, "You pull another stunt like that again and I swear to God I will take your beret. All you're doin' is provin' you're not ready to be chief of staff."

"If I were chief of staff I wouldn't have advised my men to stand down."

"What's gonna happen when one of the fellas ends up with a bullet between the eyes? Did ya think of that? You're not the one who has to tell a lass she's been made a poor widow over a couple'a hundred cartons of cigarettes."

"Ya worry too much, Jimmy. Nothin's gonna happen; they're not expectin' us to even come because we left 'em be after they nabbed our shipment from Dungloe."

"The moment ya let your guard drop, a chuisle, is the moment everythin' goes wrong."

"It'll be fine," she assured, placing her hand on his shoulder. She gave him a quick peck to the lips. "You've got my back, yeah?"

"Always."

He couldn't tell her he had a bad feeling about it. This was a lesson she needed to learn on her own.


	55. Pale Irish Arses

"When did that start up again?"

Catherine's stomach somersaulted; the color drained from her face. She searched for words to answer the question. Dessie shifts into third gear so he could pass a slower-moving car on the divided highway. They were leading the pack of cars over the border.

"Couple'a days ago. It's not like I planned it nor is it anythin' serious."

She noticed his knuckles turning white as his right hand gripped the top of the steering wheel. "I mean I get it, he's your boy's da."

For some reason, hearing that made her feel like the biggest asshole in the world. Only on the rare occasion did they talk about her relationship with Jimmy. That was part of the reason why she enjoyed his company so much. When she spent time in Crossmaglen, Dessie's only focus was making sure she, Eamonn, and Sean had fun. When the four of them were together, there were no worries, no stress. She hated to think the decision to let her guard down with Jimmy hurt him.

"I'm sorry, so I am. It's not like I'm gettin' back together with him or anythin'."

"You don't have to explain yourself. I'm a big boy; unlike Jimmy, I can handle rejection."

"Dessie-"

"It was one drunken night. Not love at first sight."

Catherine furrowed her brow, thinking back to that night. "I wasn't drunk. Were...were you drunk?"

"Nope," he answered, clearing his throat.

That was a lie he told himself. He couldn't admit he made the rookie mistake of falling in love with a broad who rode his cock once over six months ago.

"Holy shit, that's one of the vans," Dessie said, pointing ahead of them on the open road.

Trees and shrubs flashed passed them in the white headlights of the Ford. She sat up a little straighter, leaning into the dashboard so she could get a better look. Catherine unbuckled her belt, reaching into the back for the rifle. She popped in the magazine and chambered a round.

"Aye, it is."

The Donegal identifier on the plate was too much of a coincidence.

The van was only two hundred yards or so ahead of them. Not far enough for her to miss the shot, but the wind would prove to be a challenge.

Pulling back the shade over the sunroof, she opened it all the way then shimmied her top half out. The curves of the road were gradual, making it easy for Dessie to navigate and anchor Catherine.

"You good?" he yelled.

Positioning the rifle, she tilted her head, closed one eye and tried to line up the shot. "Can you get closer?"

For a quick second, Dessie let go of her and upshifted, further closing the distance. She felt his firm hold back on her. Again she lined up. Much better.

Curling her finger around the trigger, Catherine pulled it twice. As the rounds exploded through the barrel, the butt of the Armalite kicked back into her shoulder.

The van didn't slow down. She muttered, "fuck," realizing she missed. She tried three more times and missed it again.

Refusing to feel defeated, Catherine slunk back into the seat.

"There's too much wind. I can't get a good shot."

"I've an idea."

Peering into the other lane, Dessie made sure there was no oncoming traffic. He veered over, trying the best he could to get into the van's blind spot. Before he could, the van made a sudden left turn.

"They know we're right behind 'em," he said. Dessie somehow managed to round the bend, never losing sight of them.

"Should've had you teach me to drive." Catherine looked back. Unease settled into her bones once she saw Jimmy, Donny, Jack, and Kieran were no longer behind them.

Dessie chuckled. It took him a lot of years of running from the British Army and RUC in south Armagh's hills to teach him the skills he had.

Grabbing her pistol from the door compartment, Catherine put her seatbelt back on. She rolled down the window and leaned out.

"Jesus Christ, be careful!"

Considering they were on an unmarked country road, she aimlessly started shooting. Emptying the magazine, she only managed to hit the taillight.

Releasing the magazine out of the Glock, she tossed it on the floor and Dessie handed her a fresh one. With the new one popped in, she pulled the slide, then lifted her arms to aim.

This time when she looked up, she saw a man in a balaclava hanging out the passenger window of the van. She scrambled to get back in the car but wasn't fast enough. One of the headlights shattered, and another nicked the windshield.

Dessie swerved, slowing down, though not enough to lose the van.

"Motherfucker!" Sliding back into the car, Catherine threw the pistol to her feet. She rested her elbow on the door and looked at the hole burned right through the upper arm of her sweatshirt.

"Did you get hit?"

"Aye. It's only a graze, though."

Before Dessie could ask how bad it was, the van came to a screeching halt as they plowed through an intersection. He locked up the brakes, avoiding a nasty collision.

A car pulled out of a driveway perpendicular to the van, making it impossible for Dessie to swerve around. He glanced into the rearview mirror in hopes of there being a way out. Instead, two Range Rovers came from either direction, blocking the intersection. They were completely separated from the rest of the guys.

A classic IRA roadblock technique Dessie had used many times before.

"Son-a-bitch, Dessie! It's a fuckin' setup!"

Catherine looked behind them and saw four men exiting the Range Rovers. Swiveling her head, there were three men in front. All wore balaclavas and held rifles.

Turning off the engine, Dessie then grabbed Catherine by the collar of her sweatshirt. He pulled her down across the center console and climbed on top of her as bullets began puncturing the car.

Glass shards from the rear windshield and windows sprayed around them. He curled his arms over his head to protect it and his neck. Beneath him, Catherine didn't move thanks to the position she contorted into. She was more focused on the screaming, white-hot pain tearing through her upper body.

As fast as it started, the firing stopped. Even then Dessie refused to sit up until he heard the loud slam of car doors closing and tires squealing.

"Ya think it's safe?"

"Aye." he lifted off her, "if they wanted us dead, they would'a pulled us out of the car and double-tapped us in the middle of the road."

Her hand was trembling so bad, Dessie unclipped the seatbelt for her. He got out of the car spotting a parade of headlights coming in their direction. He also found it odd the Real army left their black van behind.

Four cars stopped several yards behind them.

Relief swallowed Dessie whole when members of his crew jumped out of the vehicles. Jimmy and Donny followed close behind as they all ran to see what happened.

"Youse okay?" Donny asked.

"I'm fine," Dessie said, shaking the glass out of his shirt. "Feckers cornered us and shot the car to shite. Catherine's pretty shaken up; got hit in the arm a way back."

Hearing that, Jimmy bolted right for Catherine. She was still sitting in the car when he approached, so he opened the door and pulled her out.

"Mother'a Christ, are you okay?"

Her adrenaline was so high, Catherine wasn't feeling much of anything.

Jimmy picked pieces of glass from her hair as he examined her face for any injury. There wasn't a single scratch on her.

"Dessie pulled me down in time, but this happened when we tailed 'em on the highway."

Tugging on the sleeve of her sweatshirt, her eyes bulged when she felt how soaked the fabric was.

Dessie grabbed a small medical bag from the trunk of Jack's car and dropped it on the ground. Using the dim light of his phone, he rummaged around for gauze and tape.

"Youse didn't get shot at?" she asked, taking her sweatshirt off enough to free her arm.

"No," Jimmy shook his head. "As soon as youse made that turn, a car comin' from the opposite direction blocked the road."

Jack held a flashlight for Dessie and filled in the rest of the details. "We pulled off a bit north of here, but doubled back once we heard the gunfire."

"This could be them sendin' the message they're expandin' out of Derry," Dessie said, taping the gauze.

Catherine didn't see it the same way as Dessie. Her distrust for the Kings ran so deep, she thought for sure this was set up by them to take out she and Dessie.

"Either way, we gotta get the hell outta here quick because there's no way of knowin' if they tipped off the peelers. Ya got any ammonia, my blood is-"

A massive bang and an orange fireball lit up the quiet dark countryside. The shockwave of the van exploding sent them tumbling hard to the ground.

Catherine curled into the fetal position, struggling to catch her breath after having the wind knocked out her. Every muscle in her body ached, her head throbbed from smacking it against the pavement. The ringing in her ears was so intense she could hardly hear anything. Burning diesel and sodium nitrate was a scent that made her gag.

Rolling on to her back, she was sluggish to sit up. It was difficult for her to concentrate, and her vision blurred in and out.

"Catherine!"

She heard her name, but she didn't recognize whose voice it was. It sounded muffled; far away.

"Catherine!"

Jimmy knelt in front of her. He tucked his hands under her armpits so he could help her up to her feet. She placed a hand on his shoulder to help steady her balance. She watched his mouth move, but she couldn't understand a single word he said.

Looking to her right, she squinted her eyes as they settled on the rolling fire which engulfed the van.

"Catherine!" Finally, the ringing in her ears subsided enough for it to register he was trying to get her attention. "Are you okay?"

Tearing her eyes away from the fireball, she focused on him. She reached out and brushed away the beads of blood from the cuts above his eyebrow. "You're bleedin'."

"You feelin' okay?"

"A wee bit woozy."

It took her longer than he was comfortable with to answer.

Jimmy held her face in his hands, trying to see if there were wounds worse than the cuts and scrapes.

"We gotta get out of here," she said, reality finally sinking in.

Pulling out of Jimmy's grasp, Catherine took the small canister of ammonia from Dessie. As she sprayed it on the blood all over the ground, he started removing the fake plates off the car.

Once he finished, the south Armagh crew got to work removing the weapons and soaking the Ford in diesel. Dessie lit a cigarette and tossed it on the saturated passenger seat. It did take long before it too was up in flames.

As they scattered back to the other cars, Jimmy grabbed Catherine's wrist. "You're comin' with us."

She looked down at her wrist. The way his fingers curled around it made her sick. Her entire life he's had that grip on her, always telling her what to do and when. Who she could and couldn't see. She wasn't a child anymore; she was thirty-years-old with children of her own. If Catherine wanted to head back to Dundalk with Dessie, that's exactly what she was going to do.

Ripping out of his hold, she found her voice. "No. I'll meet ya at the safe house."

He watched in disbelief as she took off behind Dessie, who held open the rear car door for her. It scared him to see she was acting the same way again when Darragh came into her life full-time. He couldn't lose her and Eamonn to another man; not again.

"Jimmy! We're all pretty busted up so I'll have a doc swing by the place and suture."

_Too bad the shard of metal that sliced through Dessie's thigh didn't make him bleed out on the street_, thought Jimmy.

Sliding in next to Catherine, Dessie barely got the door shut before Jack made a U-turn.

With three adults crammed into the backseat, it was a tight fit. Though, he wasn't going to complain about having her all but sitting on his lap. Not wanting to make a show of anything in front of his men, Dessie was sly lacing his fingers with hers.

Much to his surprise, she didn't pull away or lazily rest her hand against his. Catherine squeezed back and rubbed the pad of her thumb against his calloused one. She even scooched in a little closer.

The drive to the border was silent. They were all replaying the events over and over in their minds, trying to figure out what signs they missed. Dessie felt he failed miserably as a brigade commander tonight. Under his watch, Catherine got shot and he ignored his gut feeling about the bombing. There was no other reason for the Real army to leave the van behind. He prayed like hell the other units didn't fall into the same trap.

"I don't know about you fellas," Catherine said, "but I sure as shite could use a drink."

* * *

It was after midnight by the time they arrived in Dundalk.

Exiting from the cars, Catherine rolled her eyes when Jimmy walked right passed her. He didn't so much as acknowledge her presence, completely ignoring her request to bum a smoke.

Dessie tossed her his pack of Camel's instead, then followed everyone else inside. She needed a minute alone to collect her thoughts before facing Patrick looking the way she did.

When she finished smoking, she crushed the butt under her boot.

Patrick ambushed her before she even got through the door. She could smell the whiskey lingering on his breath as he took her face in his hands, examining the damage.

Almost being blown to hell upset her less than Patrick drinking around her boys.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. Your ma is gonna shite bricks when she sees the likes of you."

"Thanks, Da."

"Looks worse than it probably is," he noted, brushing glass and small pebbles from her facial cuts. "You best start thinkin' hard about what you're gonna tell those boys of yours when they ask what happened."

Catherine chuckled, though her sides ached when she did. "Easy, I'll tell 'em what you always told us growin' up."

"That's my girl. If ya don't make a deal of it, neither will they. Now, run upstairs and try to clean up the best ya can; doc should be here soon to look at ya."

She hugged Patrick, then headed upstairs to the bathroom. Behind her, she left the door unlocked and started peeling off her sweatshirt. The pain ripping through her left arm made her grit her teeth when she raised it above her head.

Tossing the hoodie on the counter, Catherine looked at the blood-soaked gauze. She was afraid to take the tape off, not wanting to see how bad it looked. This was the first time she's ever caught a bullet and she didn't plan on doing it ever again.

Doing the best she could, Catherine tied her hair into a bun so it was out of her face. Under the lights above the sink, she was thankful to see Patrick was right. The cuts were minor; it was the crusty blood making her look gut-wrenching. It could have been worse. Far worse. This was nothing to dwell on.

Twisting on the cold water tap, she first washed her hands. The suds from the soap turned an odd black reddish hue from blood and soot. Her entire body bore traces of explosives and all she wanted to do was scrub herself raw in a scalding shower. She wasn't thrilled to part ways with her favorite jeans, but she couldn't risk bringing them home.

Gently, she brushed away the debris from her face, not wanting to rub it deeper into the wounds. Thankfully they stopped bleeding a while ago, nor did they hurt.

As she washed her face, she heard a faint knock on the door. Expecting it to be Jimmy, she was quick to call out, "Come in."

With her eyes closed as she splashed soap off her face, Catherine didn't see Dessie was the one who squeezed behind her. When she turned the water off and looked into the mirror, the unexpected guest startled her.

"What's up, Dess?" she asked, patting her face with a towel.

He rested his back against the wall, looking at her through the mirror. "Wanted to make sure you're okay. It's my fault everythin' went to shite tonight."

Folding the towel and placing it on the counter, Catherine met his gaze. The helpless expression on his face tore her heart to shreds. Dessie reminded her so much of Darragh. He was too hard on himself and took responsibility for things that were never in his control in the first place.

"Hey," she cooed, turning around. Catherine brushed her finger under his chin. "Don't ya go blamin' yourself for anythin' that bloody happened tonight. This is all on me - I'm the one who broke orders and decided to go after 'em."

"Doesn't matter. My gut told me-"

Catherine placed her finger on his lips, a move he hadn't anticipated. He couldn't help but find the show of dominance to be wholly sexy. "Shite happens and there's nothin' we can do to change it. All we can do is regroup, then try to figure out where to go from here."

Dessie wasn't sure if she was talking about the botched operation or their relationship. He took a shot. "Where do you wanna go from here?"

"Right now? I haven't the slightest clue...my life if an absolute mess."

"I can change that. You and the boys come to Cross with me, Catherine."

"Dessie," she groaned, spinning around and placing her hands on the counter. "It's not that simple."

"Why can't it? We've been playin' this stupid game since ya came down to train with me and I'm sick of it; I really am. You act like you don't deserve happiness and ya do. Look, I know I'll never mean as much to you as Darragh, but I can see ya strugglin' with your feelin's about me. You wanna be with me and I wanna be with you; sounds goddamn simple to me."

"Jimmy'll never let me take Eamonn to Cross."

"Fuck Jimmy O'Phelan! Ya think I won't protect youse from that devil?"

Catherine hung her head. She didn't doubt for a second that Dessie would ever allow Jimmy to drag her to hell. What she hated the most was that she wasn't sure what was keeping her from giving him a chance.

Her life was a miserable storm of violence, resentment, and loneliness. When she was around Jimmy, she wasn't at ease. But with Dessie, she felt she could breathe.

And he hated watching the woman he remembered to be so full of life become a shell. Only outside of Belfast's city limits did he see a glimmer of who she used to be.

Taking a step forward, he placed his hands on her sides. "It may not turn out to be some great love, but ya never know. We'd only be hurtin' ourselves if we didn't try."

Squeezing her eyes shut, Catherine choked back her tears. She remembered what Darragh said to her one afternoon on the Falls Road:

_"I'm not askin' you to run down to St. Peters with me and get married. All I'm sayin' is that we owe it to ourselves to try. Somethin' grand can build between us and I know I'm not the only one who thinks that."_

Giving Darragh that chance turned out to be the greatest decision she ever made in her life. What they had was grand.

Dessie was right; she did want him as much as he wanted her.

"Jimmy'll come after ya."

"I can handle Jimmy," he said, curling one arm around the front of her neck, pulling her closer into him. He nibbled her earlobe, whispering into her ear how beautiful she is.

Catherine melted against him, finding the warmth his body radiated to be comforting. She bit her lip, feeling her cheeks burn hotter with every word he spoke.

His free hand worked the button and fly of her jeans. When they were open, he slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of her underwear.

"Goddamn you're soaked," he teased, lazily circling her swollen clit.

Catherine tried to speak, but the words got lost somewhere between her brain and mouth. Curling her fingers around his forearm, Catherine caught Dessie's gaze in the mirror.

Her eyes were heavy with desire and her lips parted just enough to show her clenched teeth. The sight filled Dessie with an innate urge to ravage her body.

"What do ya want?"

"I want - I want you to make me come on your fingers."

His heart fluttered hearing such a vulgar answer spill from her sweet mouth. He kissed her cheek, his eyes never once leaving hers. There was something about Catherine that made Dessie want to take his time. Draw her pleasure out for as long as possible.

Without warning, he slipped the tip of his middle finger inside of her. She clenched around him.

"I love feelin' you squeeze your pussy around me," he purred. "And I've missed havin' you grind that little clit against me."

Catherine swore she blacked out for a split second. She never had a man speak to her like that before, and she wouldn't deny it turned her on even more. The evidence of her spiked arousal slickened his fingers.

Twisting her neck so she could get a taste of his honey tongue, Dessie stopped her. He eased his finger from her, then pressed firmly against her clit. It filled him with satisfaction to feel her wither in his arms.

"If you want me to make you come, baby, there's somethin' I need from you." He kissed her temple, then pointed to the mirror. "I want you to look at me and ask permission to come; I wanna hear you beg for it."

She had been dominated in bed before but never _dominated_.

Never like this.

Staring into his dark lustful eyes, Catherine froze and Dessie didn't expect that.

He rested his cheek against her, his expression softened as he worried he pushed her out of her comfort zone. Having been with a man like Jimmy, he assumed things never remained vanilla. And while Dessie was on the right track, it wasn't words which Jimmy spiced up.

The last thing he wanted to do was scare her away. He was tender with her the first night they were together, so Dessie wanted to show her he could be domineering, too. Turns out she wasn't that kind of girl and he felt like a fool.

He decided to quit while he still had an ounce of dignity left. He started to pull his hand out from her panties.

"I'm sorry, Catherine."

"Don't stop," she blurted, grabbing his wrist.

Being pushed passed her limits was exactly what she needed. The last time she remembered feeling so liberated was with Happy in the grimy bathroom of a pub in Lodi.

She had been so guarded the first time she slept with Dessie, Catherine owed it to herself to breakdown those walls.

He desired her in ways Jimmy and Ian never would. He could leave her feeling free as Darragh and Happy did.

She already made the mistake of allowing one decent man to slip from her fingers, she wasn't about to do it again.

"Please let me come, Dessie." She began to grind her ass against his cock and kiss his inked forearm. "Please let me come for you. I wanna come so badly."

He swore in Irish, wasting no time running his fingers along her slit soaking them before sliding in. Pumping his middle and ring fingers, he glided his thick thumb along her clit.

Her delicate, strangled moans were the sweetest thing he's ever heard. She dug her nails into his arm as she squirmed, his fingers once never relenting on their assault.

It wasn't the work of his skilled fingers that pushed Catherine to the edge so fast. It was the eye contact. The way he looked at her with such hunger, yet a hint of affection stoked a fire she forgot was even burning.

This wasn't just a raw shameless romp. There was still intimacy and a connection no matter how filthy he spoke to her.

"You like it when I'm two knuckles deep, don't ya?"

"Aye...oh, God, Dessie...fuck."

She couldn't even forge a coherent thought.

"But ya like it better when I play with your pretty clit, huh?"

Dessie focused his attention on the spot that made her head drop back on his chest. He flicked, swirled, rubbed. The blotchy red spots forming on her neck and face told him she was close.

"Can I come?" she asked, her voice was hoarse and thick with the need for release.

The fact she even obliged him and asked, made Dessie harder than he already was. He wasn't cruel enough to make her wait any longer. "You can come for me, baby. I wanna feel ya gush all over my fingers."

Not even a minute later, Catherine reached up and gripped Dessie's shaggy hair. Her nails raked his scalp as her muscles locked up. He had to cover her mouth to muffle the cries spilling from her lips.

At this point, it was Patrick who Dessie feared more finding them in such a compromising position.

As she relaxed in his arms, he slowly pulled his hand from her underwear.

Spinning around, Catherine dropped to her knees. She freed the leather strap of his belt then unsnapped the button.

His fingers slid through her silky hair. "What do you think you're doin' down there?"

Pulling down the zipper, Catherine licked her lips. "Fair is fair, I suppose."

Already erect, his length filled her hand. With a feather-light touch, she ran her fingers along the satin skin, teasing and admiring. Opening her mouth, Catherine flicked her tongue over the head, sliding it along the underside, then took him fully.

Dessie's woven fingers tightened the grip in her hair. He bit his lip and gurgled a low moan, which turned into a strident hiss as she swirled her tongue. Her movements were deliberately slow just as his were. Her head began to swim thanks to the wanton mewl when she swiveled her hand along his diamond-hard shaft.

He grabbed the towel bar, his head smacking against the wall when he felt the back of Catherine's throat.

Sliding him out of her mouth and tracing the head of his cock along her lips, she tasted the salty trail he left behind. The eye contact, accompanied by her taking him deep once more, caused his hips to jolt with a smoldering need. When she reached up cupping his tightened balls, that was Dessie's undoing.

He bellowed, shooting his load right down her throat.

Before she had the chance to unwrap her lips from around his cock and swallow, the bathroom door swung open.

Jimmy swore he felt his soul physically leave his body at the sight of Catherine - _his _Catherine - on her knees with another man's dick in her mouth. She sat back on her ankles and he watched her throat undulate as she gulped down what was unquestionably a mouthful of cum.

With the back of her hand, she wiped away the saliva and Dessie scrambled to pull up his jeans.

She could not believe this happened _again. _

"The uh...the guy," Jimmy took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and collect his thoughts. "Doc's here, so get downstairs."

Without another word, he closed the door, leaving Catherine and Dessie shell shocked.

"It could've been worse," Dessie said, helping her to her feet. "You da could've been the one who walked in."

"This is karma, ya know that yeah?

"How?"

"From when youse walked in on Darragh plowin' me on the kitchen table."

"Oh, yeah!" Dessie laughed refastening his belt. "When I was in prison I saw my fair share of pale Irish arses, but by God did that boy have the whitest ass of us all. And since I've Irish arses on the mind," He playfully bent Catherine over the counter and pulled down her jeans to reveal the small black heart tattoo on her right cheek, "that is one sexy piece of ink."


	56. Our Girl

It was seven in the morning when Jimmy made it back to the safe house.

He spent most of the night crawling into a bottle of Jameson. Somehow, he ended up in the seaside village of Blackrock. Sitting on the concrete wall overlooking the Irish Sea, he contemplated jumping in, ending it once and for all.

_What's the point?_ he wondered. Living with a woman he hated—and who equally hated him—was making life miserable. He hardly knew his son because Catherine didn't want Eamonn to have anything to do with him. And the cherry on top was walking in on Catherine with Dessie in the bathroom. For some time he held out hope that maybe she'd come around again. Finding her on her knees with Dessie was proof the romance in their relationship was over.

For over half his life he wallowed in such intense hate, it infected everyone in his life. He turned Catherine into someone he hardly recognizes anymore. The last thing he wanted was for Eamonn to live with the same animosity and loneliness he felt. If he were gone, he could save his son from such a life.

But, even in the throes of a depressive episode, his narcissism still managed to talk him out of drunkenly diving into the sea.

When he walked through the front door of the house, he shut it with his foot. He found Dessie sleeping on the sofa. One boot planted on the floor, an arm draped across his eyes. His drunken snoring reverberated against the walls.

Leaning his shoulder against the doorjamb into the living room, Jimmy got a good look at him.

Forty-two and divorced with daughters he didn't even know. Covered in tattoos, shaggy unkempt hair. Chubby from a steady diet of takeaway food, and beer. Not to mention, a fashion sense that didn't go any further than jeans, t-shirts, and flannel.

What the fuck did Catherine see in such a low-life?

All Jimmy could do was snicker to himself. He remembered Dessie once tried to convince him his relationship with Catherine was nothing more than fling. If he didn't know any better, Jimmy would say Dessie had been trying to push him out of Catherine's life so he could swoop in.

Fucking prick.

The creak of the stairs tore Jimmy's attention away from the sleeping man on the couch. He looked around the corner and saw Catherine walking down the stairs.

"The boys still sleepin'?"

"Aye," she answered, stopping to yawn. "I didn't get 'em back to sleep until like after three."

"How're ya feelin?"

"Like I was almost blown to hell. Can't wait to get back to Belfast so I can take the hot bubble bath and chug a bottle of wine with a few painkillers."

Catherine chuckled but Jimmy didn't. He didn't find her attempted joke to be funny. If he wasn't so pissed off at her, he would have.

"What time did the fellas get in?"

"Not sure. But I don't think it was too long ago because when I finally crashed about four, they were still at the pub."

He looked at the sutured bullet wound on her left arm. His stomach churned as he recalled how upset Eamonn was after he came downstairs, finding his mother restrained by three men and biting down a leather belt. Instead of going out for a much-needed drink, Catherine stayed at the house to get the boys back to bed after the commotion woke them up.

"Get coffee goin' then wake 'em all up. I'm gonna jump in the shower and then we're gonna have a wee chat about what happened last night."

Catherine gulped and nodded. She knew it was going to be a "shit all over Catherine" discussion.

She stepped off the last two steps and tried to push passed Jimmy to get into the living room.

"Where ya goin? The kitchen's that way," he said, said pointing down the hall.

"I was gonna wake Dessie and see-"

"Go make coffee." Jimmy looked down at Catherine and his harsh stare sent a chill down her spine.

Not wanting to piss Jimmy off any more than he was, Catherine turned and headed straight to the kitchen.

When Jimmy heard the sink turn on, and the cabinets open and close, he crossed the threshold into the living room. Marching right to the couch where Dessie lay sound asleep, Jimmy kicked him in the thigh where he'd been sutured.

"Wake up, asshole."

A tearing hot pain shooting up and down his leg jolted Dessie awake. He shot up, holding his hand against his wound. Blood seeped through the denim making it obvious Jimmy popped a stitch or two.

Oops.

"Fuck! You're a prick, so you are," Dessie hissed through clenched teeth.

"That's for what ya said about Catherine at the pub."

Dessie winced when he remembered the distasteful comment he made after one too many pints.

"_Ya wanna smell my fingers, Jimmy? Because that's the closest you'll ever be gettin' to Cate again."_

"That's fair."

"Get up and get your men. I want everyone around the table in a half-hour."

Once Jimmy was out of the room, Dessie called him unkind names under his breath. He used the coffee table to help stand up, but the throbbing from the popped stitches made him grimace. Not to mention he was so hungover his head left like it was in a vice.

A little uneasy on his feet, Dessie staggered to the kitchen. He yawned and scratched his chest, then smiled when he saw Catherine puttering about the kitchen. As she stood on her tiptoes to reach the coffee mugs in the cabinet, he tilted his head to get a better look at her tight ass.

"Don't be a pervert, Dennehy."

She didn't even have to turn around to know he was gawking at her. "How'd ya know t'was me?"

Before she answered Catherine filled a glass with cold water and shook a few capsules of paracetamol into her palm. She waved him over.

"I'm just that good, I suppose."

Dessie popped the pain reliever into his mouth and washed them down. Water never tasted so good.

"MI5's got nothin' on ya," he snickered.

"Gotta be sharper than 'em if I don't wanna get caught."

He set the empty glass down on the table behind him then motioned for Catherine to hop up on the counter. Once she was up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he placed his hands on her hips.

"Did ya have fun with the fellas?"

"Aye. Wish you could'a joined us, though."

"Wish I could've, too." Catherine ran her fingers through his mane of mocha brown hair. "I promise I'll make it up to ya."

Dessie brushed the tip of his nose along hers. "If ya kiss me, I supposed I'll call it even."

"Just a kiss, huh?" she asked, curling her legs around his waist. He pulled her closer and wrapped Catherine in his arms. "Seems like I'm gettin' off easy."

"Baby, I wish I could be gettin' ya off right about now."

Between his warm lips grazing hers, the husky purr of his voice, and being wrapped in his sturdy arms turned Catherine to putty. When his rough fingers tickled her spine, she took a sharp breath which Dessie took advantage of by seizing her mouth with his.

Dessie didn't just kiss her. He took her mouth as if he were claiming it as his.

His tongue slipped between her lips, prying them open so he could deepen the kiss. She swore he explored every corner of her mouth, and his taste was familiar—tobacco and stale beer. A hint of whiskey.

A moan bubbled up her throat and he stole it along with her common sense.

The man was a damn good kisser.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, Dessie held her head where he wanted it. The longer he kissed her, Catherine could feel the dimmed flame of passion once again roar white-hot. She couldn't remember the last time a man excited her as much as he did. But she knew she couldn't let him get too comfortable in her life. At the end of the day, Dessie was an IRA man—she refused to bury another man who burrowed into her heart.

Their tongues entangled; teeth gently nipped lips. Hands wandered and heads swam.

As he felt her delicate fingers twist around the chain he wore around his neck, Dessie wished his life could be like this forever. For so long he wondered what it would be like to have Catherine as his, he couldn't let her get away. This time around, he was ready for the domestic life and there was no one else he wanted it with. Catherine was the epitome of what he wanted in a wife and mother.

"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ!" A bellowing voice the both of them recognized instantly ended the kiss. "I oughta beat your fuckin' ass for the way you're maulin' my daughter there, Dessie."

Catherine licked her swollen and reddened lips as she turned her attention to Patrick standing in the doorway. He was wearing the same jeans and shirt as yesterday, but his boots were untied. She felt like she was seventeen again. The embarrassment of getting caught making out gripped her soul. By the look on Patrick's face, she was pleased to see he was more repulsed than angry. She couldn't blame him. What man would want to see his daughter molested before the sun rose?

Dessie had seen the kind of a beatings Patrick was capable of doling out and the thought of being on the receiving end of one sacred him half to death. He wanted to take off running, but he didn't dare to move. He wondered if he stayed completely still, then Patrick wouldn't see him.

Pulling the cigarette out from behind his ear, Patrick clamped it between his lips. He pointed at Catherine and Dessie as he opened the back door. "Youse knock that shite off right now. The last thing any of us need is Jimmy seein' youse goin' at it like horned teenagers."

With that said, he took off outside for a nicotine buzz.

Catherine started laughing because if she didn't she'd cry. Dessie looked wildly concerned.

"He's not gonna beat my ass, is he?"

"Depends. I mean he really doesn't take too kindly to blokes sniffin' around me. He did a number on poor Darragh after he found out we were together."

All the color drained from Dessie's face and pure terror glossed his usual cold eyes. "Hell did he do to him?"

"Well, all I'm gonna say is that my Da was part of the Nuttin' Squad, so use your imagination."

"Mother'a Christ."

Catherine couldn't keep her laughter in anymore. "I'm fuckin' with ya. He never hurt Darragh and I don't think he was ever on the Nuttin' Squad."

Dessie peered out the window above the sink, watching Patrick smoke in the freezing rain wearing only a t-shirt. The old-timer carried himself with an aura that screamed: "not to be fucked with." So much of his past was unknown to volunteers, many were convinced he'd been part of the Unknowns during his time with the Provisionals. His lengthy absences from home, as well as his heavily guarded past, it wouldn't surprise Dessie if Patrick had been part of the IRA's most dangerous units at one point.

Catherine always wanted to ask her father if the rumors were true, but she knew the rules:

_You say nothing to any person. Not your family, friends, or workmates. Loose lips cost lives._

"How sure are ya he never was?" he wondered.

"Absolutely sure," she declared, giving it some thought for the first time in her life. "Okay, fairly sure. On second thought, maybe he was."

"Not helpin', Cate."

She smiled hearing him call her Cate. He was the only one who ever did.

* * *

Only about a dozen men of the south Armagh crew decided to spend the night in Dundalk. Nevertheless, it was still a tight fit having them all in the kitchen.

Catherine sat at the table beside Dessie, stirring milk and sugar into coffee mugs for them when Jimmy finally came downstairs. He looked as tired and hungover as the rest of them, but he had to hide his physical discomfort more than they did. All conversations suddenly came to an end, and Dessie grabbed Catherine's hand under the table. Even he knew Jimmy wouldn't hold back his shots on her, especially after what he walked in on last night.

Jimmy didn't sit down. He stood in front of them and crossed his arms over his chest. He wanted to keep it short, his mind was only on getting back to Belfast.

"Never have I been so disappointed or felt such disrespect by the lot. The blatant disregard for orders will never fuckin' happen under my command again."

The room was so quiet, a pin dropping could be heard. The shame they felt was immense, but they refused to lower their heads knowing Jimmy would only rip into them more if they did.

He continued, "You're lucky I've decided not to have youse court-martialed. That doesn't mean those responsible for leadin' the campaign won't face consequences." Jimmy looked right to the guilty parties. "Dessie, you're suspended from the Dublin shipments; the Belfast lads'll take over until after the new year. As for you, Catherine Mary, I don't even know what to do about you. Until I can figure that out, you're demoted indefinitely, and you'll act as the courier between Belfast and south Armagh."

While being demoted to courier stung, it was still an important job and not degrading in the slightest. Only, no one else in the room beside her knew why Jimmy chose that specific position. It was a test of her loyalty. If any operations were foiled or an arms cache was intercepted by the PSNI, all fingers would point to her.

Catherine glanced up at Patrick hoping he'd jump in and defend her against such a punishment. But he didn't. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest and threw daggers in her direction. She basked too much in the feeling of Patrick being proud of her for leading the operation, she conveniently forgot to mention she broke orders. While Patrick had a record of insubordination, he was infuriated. Her impulsivity almost killed two south Armagh units, along with Dessie, Donny, and Jimmy.

By the lack of friction between Jimmy and the rest of the guys, it was loud and clear they all agreed with his decision. Even Dessie dropped her hand when he found out his job was being outsourced to Belfast.

She swallowed her pride when she realized Jimmy had been right all along. She was far from ready to lead.

All it took was one terrible decision, and she lost the faith of the entire True Army.

* * *

When Jimmy finished ripping them to shreds, he left for Belfast without Catherine and the boys.

She was upstairs and in the middle of packing when Dessie jaunted into the room, sitting on the edge of the bed. He rested his hands on his thighs, watching her fold clothes. She was only focused on the "stay free" tattoo inked across eight of his fingers. A faded red rose was on his thumb, a black script 'J' in the webbing of the other.

Catherine wrongfully assumed they were tributes to past relationships he never bothered to cover up. Unbeknownst to her, they were a testament to the daughters he hadn't seen nor spoken to in a decade.

"If you're here to lecture me, save your breath. I already heard it from my Da."

Dessie ignored the snarky comment. He'd be in a foul mood too if he'd been ripped two assholes in less than an hour. Unfortunately, he was there to deliver more crushing news.

"Your da asked me to drive you and the boys up to Belfast."

"Well isn't that fuckin' grand."

Pushing the duffle bags off the bed and onto the floor, Catherine sat behind him. Patrick was so upset with her, he didn't even want to spend an hour's car ride with her. She covered her face with her hands, losing the battle not to cry. She was far too humiliated to keep those emotions in anymore. In less than twenty-four hours she managed to lose more than she'll ever get back.

Dessie couldn't stand the sound of her crying. It broke his heart to see one of the strongest women he knew completely breakdown. He didn't feel bad she was forced to face the consequences of her actions, but he did empathize with her demotion. Eventually, Catherine would bounce back, but once faith was questioned it was difficult to earn.

In an attempt to offer fleeting comfort, he pulled her into a hug. She tightly wrapped her arms around him and rested her face in the curve of his neck.

"Ya know, in '97 I was OC of the sniper team in Cross and my IO showed me a ton of proof that one of the lads was toutin' to the RUC. I refused to believe my childhood mate was sellin' us out the Saxons so I ignored everythin' he said. Couple'a months later, we were out on an operation where we were ambushed by the SAS and arrested."

Catherine lifted her head off Dessie's shoulder and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "Why are ya tellin' me this?"

"When I was released from Maghaberry, Callaghan was chief of staff at the time and he demoted me. None of the fellas trusted my judgment so I spent a good two years doin' bitch jobs until I proved I could be OC again. Even the best of us fuck up and like ya said last night when it does happen all we can do is regroup and figure out where to go from there. It's a shite feelin' to know none of the fellas trust ya, but in time they'll come around if ya put your nose to the ground and grind."

"Do you still trust me?"

Dessie stared into her bloodshot glassy eyes. He couldn't believe how worn out she looked. Maybe taking a break from the responsibilities that came along with being an officer was a good thing. She was burning out and needed time to rest, recharge.

"Aye. Never would'a followed ya off that loadin' dock if I didn't. What happened falls on both of us. The only reason Jimmy came down on ya harder, is because he's cross you're my girl. He's gonna try to make life as miserable as possible for you."

Catherine bit her bottom lip as her heart fluttered. "I'm your girl, huh?"

The way she gazed at him made Dessie feel like a teenager again. "Aye…I mean only if ya wanna be."

She clutched the emerald heart pendant resting on her chest. For the first time, she didn't feel guilty about moving on with her life. Four lonely years had passed; it was time to start living again.

"I've wee skeletons in my closet," she admitted.

"As do I. But if we're serious about givin' this a shot, we can work passed anythin' that rears its ugly face. I'm not gonna lie, I've been crushin' on ya since the day I bloody met ya and I wanna give you and the boys a half-decent life. For that to happen, I need ya to promise me you're done with Jimmy."

"You've nothin' to worry about. What happened the other night was a one-off. He's my superior officer, nothin' more."

Dessie had no other choice but to trust her. She closed that door of her past with Darragh so he was inclined to believe she'd do the same for him.

* * *

After dropping Catherine and boys at home, Dessie made a pit-stop before heading back to Crossmaglen. He parked his Volkswagen Jetta on Divis Drive, then crossed the Falls Road to walk through the gates of Milltown Cemetery. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, he braced the wind and headed to the republican plot.

It was the first time since the funeral Dessie was visiting Darragh. Not because he never wanted to. Dessie tried many times to walk through those gates, but he was lucky if he made it to Belfast without completely falling apart. His heart floundered as he looked down on the chunk of black granite nestled in the pebbles, reading the names chiseled into the stone.

_Volunteers_

_John McKenna_

_Seamus McCartney_

_Darragh Ryan_

Beside the slab—surrounded by flowers—sat a black placard Catherine had custom made. The Irish tri-color, an Easter Lily, and a Celtic cross were engraved. It read:

_In Loving Memory Of_

_Vol. Darragh Ryan_

_Óglaigh na hÉireann_

_Died 28 August 2004_

_Forever loved and proudly remembered_

A chill went through his bones as tears prickled his eyes. Darragh didn't deserve to be in the ground. It wasn't fair he had to leave his son and the woman he loved more than life behind.

Dessie could never forget the expression on Catherine's face when Darragh's casket was lowered into the ground. She looked wholly broken. Tears silently rolling down her blotchy cheeks as she clutched his flag and beret against her chest.

Looking back on that day, he couldn't blame his ex-wife for taking the girls and running to Scotland. He'd been a terrible father and an even worse husband.

"Miss ya, Darragh," he spoke over the knot in his throat, "not a day goes by where I don't think of you, brotha'. Catherine loves and misses ya like hell…not sure why a gorgeous and smart lass would, but I digress," he chuckled. "The wean looks just like ya; acts just like ya, too. I've been keepin' an eye on 'em like ya wanted."

Dessie had no idea if there even was an afterlife where Darragh was, but he liked to believe such a place existed. He also wanted to believe Darragh could hear what he was saying. It helped make his conscience feel a little less guilty.

"You became one of my best mates after Cate brought ya down to Cross, and I'll always be thankful she did. I hope you know I'd never intentionally do anythin' to disrespect ya, but I can see why ya loved her as much as you did. She's a good girl. We've been spendin' a lot of time together and I can't help the way I feel about her. I haven't been this crazy about a bird since I met my crazy ex-wife. I just…I wanted to tell you myself that Cate and I…Cate and I are gonna give a relationship a shot. Who knows what'll come of it, but I promise I'll treat her as good as you did, and your boys as if they were my own."

There wasn't an ounce of bullshit in his words. He'd treat her with the respect and devotion she deserved, and would always be there for Eamonn and Sean.

"If ya don't want me with her, feel free to smite me with lightnin' or somethin'. I want ya to be okay with her and I bein' together." Instead of getting struck down by lightning, the wind died down for the first time all day. A serene peacefulness filled Dessie. He took that as his sign. "I hope I can make her half as happy as you did. Keep an eye on our girl until I can get back up here, yeah?"

With that finally off his chest, Dessie pulled ten pounds from his pocket and slipped it under the placard. "For the smokes ya bought me the last time I saw ya. Told ya I was good for it, ya wanker."


	57. Oíche mhaith

**December 2008 - Northern Ireland**

Dessie sat in his car, parked down the road from a pub. His eyes glued on the front door, his fingers curled so hard around the steering wheel his knuckles were white.

"Would ya relax?" Rory busied himself eating a bag of Tayto crisps. "Datin' a bird like her, you knew exactly what you were gettin' into."

Beyond annoyed with his intelligence officer, Dessie reached over and snatched the bag from Rory's hand. He rolled down the window, throwing it out onto the dark, damp street.

"Ya know, you're a real dick sometimes."

"Yeah? Well, you need to keep your fuckin' bake shut."

Rory caught the anguish twisting Dessie's features. It had been so long since any of them saw Dessie show a shred of emotion, they almost forgot he had any. The last time Rory remembered him being this upset over a woman had been right after he was served divorce papers in prison.

He softened his tone. "I wouldn't sweat it, man. The blokes we spoke with seemed dodgy so I doubt the intelligence is even right. He may not even be in there with her."

"We fuckin' saw him walk right into the goddamn pub two bloody hours ago!" Dessie roared. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to calm down. "I can't fuckin' take this; I should go in there-"

"Don't you fuckin' move. Ya want her to come out on her own. If she's not out in another hour, then I'll go in and scope the crowd."

Dessie wanted to scream and rip the steering wheel off the dashboard. He hated this feeling. It felt like his insides were being poked with a hot iron and the weight on his chest made it difficult to breathe. He already blew through his pack of Camels so he nervously bit his nails.

The images flashing through his brain about what was going on inside were probably much worse than reality. Knowing that still did very little to settle his nerves.

And Rory's snide comment about his relationship with her rubbed Dessie the wrong way, making him even more irritated if that was possible.

"What the hell did ya mean when ya said I knew exactly what I was gettin' into datin' a broad like her?"

Rory stammered, "I - nothin' bad. It's just, she's one of us, ya know?"

"I don't know so please explain."

"Shite like this is gonna happen." He stopped talking as they both saw the pub's front door swing open. "I think that's her."

Dessie thought he was going to be sick as he watched the couple stumble out of the pub. Her arms wrapped around the neck of another man, as his hands wandered from her hips to her breasts.

"That's definitely them." Rory tossed Dessie a balaclava.

Once it was on, he started his car and tapped the brakes twice before crossing the road and parking in front of the pub. Dessie was the first one out, ripping the man off Catherine. Before the stranger had a chance to figure out what was going on, Dessie had him in a sleeper hold.

As he was going limp from a lack of oxygen to the brain, Catherine hopped into the backseat of the Jetta. A white van pulled up and three more men in balaclavas got out. They blindfolded the Real army man then tossed his body into the back of the van.

The entire abduction went down in less than two minutes. Once Dessie and Rory were back in the car, they drove in the opposite direction of the van, looking to make it out of Derry without drawing any attention.

Rory looked into the backseat and saw Catherine peeling off the short platinum blonde wig she wore. "Leave it on. You look cracker as a blonde."

She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, but she felt so disgusted she only concentrated on not crying.

When he didn't so much as hear a sarcastic snicker from Catherine, Dessie peeked into the rearview mirror. She looked so doeful and it broke his heart.

* * *

Hours later, they arrived at the farm in Forkhill. Dessie pulled up to the house as the van went straight for the barn. Before he could turn off the car, Catherine jumped out and headed inside. On her way, Dessie noticed she chucked the wig into the fire pit.

"You head to the barn and get the bloke set up. I'm gonna check on her then I'll be over."

Rory did exactly as he was told.

Climbing out of the car, it felt good for Dessie to finally stretch his cramped muscles. He stuffed the keys into his pocket then walked up the porch to the front door. Inside, he found Catherine standing in the living room, removing her gaudy earrings.

Unzipping and shrugging off his jacket, Dessie tossed it on the sofa with hers. He came up behind her then turned her around, curling his arms around her shoulders. The moment her face buried into his chest, Catherine began to weep delicate, gentle tears.

Dessie fought tooth and nail to keep Catherine from being the one to lure their target out of the pub. It was a mixture of him not wanting his girlfriend to flaunt herself to another man, and thinking it wasn't fair she'd been chosen in the first place.

His men came up with a brilliant idea he hated to admit worked. Even if it was emotionally taxing on both, all any of the other guys cared about was that the operation was a success.

But Dessie couldn't care less if it had been a success or not. Catherine was in his arms crying her eyes out over the utter degradation of using her sexuality to help the cause. Her well-being - emotionally, mentally, physically - was all he cared about foremost. He promised he'd protect her from the world and tonight was a failure in Dessie's eyes.

She hadn't objected when asked to do it, though she didn't have much of a choice. After all, Jimmy had been the one who volunteered her service. This was his sick way of torturing the couple after only two months of dating.

"Please don't make me do that again," she squeaked.

His heart dropped into his stomach. Cupping her cheeks into his thick hands, Dessie lifted her head off his chest. Her cheeks were red and blotchy with streaks of black running down them.

"I promise you'll never have to do that or anythin' else ya don't wanna. You gonna be okay?"

She nodded and sniffled, wiping the mascara tears off with the sleeve of her dress. "Aye. I just wanna take a shower."

Pressing a soft kiss on her forehead, he then patted her ass and nudged her in the direction of the stairs. As she walked, he marveled at how the blue material of her dress hugged every beautiful tight curve of her body. Sometimes it was still hard for him to believe she was finally his.

Halfway up the stairs, Catherine leaned over the railing. "Ya comin' or not, Dennehy?"

He didn't need to be told twice.

Taking the steps two at a time, he couldn't get her to the bedroom fast enough.

* * *

Dessie stood behind her and carefully unzipped her dress, revealing the soft unblemished skin of her back. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder as he pushed the cheap garment completely off. When it pooled around her feet, Catherine stepped out and kicked it aside.

Placing his hands on her stomach, he left a trail of kisses from her shoulder to her earlobe. Curling an arm around Dessie's neck, Catherine twirled her fingers on the ends of his hair.

He was constantly on her mind. The need and desire she had for Dessie, was like a nagging ache. In the daytime and wakeful hours of the night when she was in Belfast and he in Crossmaglen, she craved him. Once they were finally together, she wanted to consume every inch of him - mind, body, and soul. She wanted to show in every sense she was his.

Taking his hands off her belly, Dessie unclasped her bra. After letting it fall to the ground, he cupped her heavy breasts, gently pinching her round, soft pink nipples. He slid one hand up her flushed chest and neck, slipping his middle and ring fingers into her mouth.

His cock grew harder than it ever has at the feeling of Catherine swirling her tongue and sucking. Dessie sighed in her ear, loving her small whimper as he pinched her nipple again.

Slipping his fingers in and out of her mouth, he purred, "You've no idea how much I've missed havin' you wrapped around me. Have you missed me fillin' that sweet little cunt with my fat cock?"

She only nodded, unable to talk with his fingers in her mouth. He took them out and kissed her neck. "Tell me how much you've missed my cock, baby."

Catherine quickly learned Dessie had every right to be conceited over his cock. Eight months ago, she realized his nickname, Heavy D, wasn't a jab at the fact he gained two stone over the last couple of years.

"All I've thought about this week is you stretchin' me wide and makin' me scream so loud I've no voice by the end."

Dessie inched the fingers which were slick with Catherine's saliva under her thong. He circled her clit, and she slumped against him with a beautiful cry of pleasure.

"Do you ever touch yourself when you think of me stretchin' you?"

She didn't hesitate to answer, "Aye. Every time."

In swift motions, Dessie ripped his hand out of her thong and smacked her ass so hard she yelped in pain. He wrapped her hair in his fist, yanking.

"Irish Catholic girls know better than to touch themselves. And here I thought ya were better than that, Catherine Mary."

She broke out her St. Dominic's uniform once, and he hasn't been able to let it go since. But the way he spoke to her made her quiver with excitement. She loved the way he pushed her beyond what she was used to.

"I'm sorry, Dessie, I really am. I promise I won't do it again."

The way she made her voice clear and sweet made him clamp his teeth down on his lower lip.

He pushed her down. "Then get on your knees and show me how sorry you really are."

Catherine dropped and instantly went for his belt. In record time she had it undone, shoving down his jeans and boxers.

Wrapping a hand around his shaft, Catherine smeared the beads of precum along the head with her thumb. Dessie grunted, petting her hair. Reaching around and resting a hand on his ass, she wrapped her lips around him. When her tongue glided up and pressed into the hole at the tip of his cock, Dessie curled his fingers into her hair.

She blew him nice and slow, every so often a choking sound coming from her as she took as much of him as she could. Dessie hissed when she reached up and softly squeezed his balls.

"Oh fuck, baby... just like that," he pants, as Catherine found the perfect rhythm of sucking and hand swiveling.

Dessie closed his eyes, thrusting his hips forward in a pleading way to get Catherine to relent on her deliberately slow pace. She swallowed him whole again without warning. The fullness of him making her gag in the best possible way.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a mixture of fluids glistening in the soft light as it dribbled down her chin. Big watery doe eyes looked up at him.

"You're so fuckin' beautiful on your knees for me. So fuckin' messy, too. Look at ya, spit and lipstick all over your face."

When Dessie realized how close he was, he stopped her, much to Catherine's dismay.

"Am I not makin' ya feel good?" she asked, sitting back on her ankles.

"You've no bloody idea how fuckin' amazin' ya make me feel."

"Then why did you stop me?"

"Because," he said, first pulling up his pants then helping Catherine to her feet. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't wanna blow my load in your mouth. I wanna see my cum spillin' from your fanny."

Dessie grabbed the back of her neck and crashed his lips down on hers. He kissed her just long enough to leave her wanting more once he pulled away.

He playfully spanked her. "Now, go get the shower runnin', I'll be there in a minute."

There was no missing the excitement that lit up Catherine's face. She kissed him once more, then bounced into the en suite bathroom.

When Dessie heard the shower turn on, he kicked off his boots then stripped from his clothes. Tossing his duffle bag onto the bed, he rustled around until he found the bottle of silicone-based lube.

Armed with lubricant, Dessie strolled into the steam-filled bathroom. He opened the foggy glass door and stepped in, setting the bottle up on the ledge. Catherine wasted no time with her wandering hands. He loved the way her touch felt as her fingers danced along his skin.

She kissed the tattoo on his chest that sprawled from collarbone to collarbone.

"_Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil," _it reads.

On his ribcage is another saying, "_For those I love, I will sacrifice." _

His arms and torso are covered in sentimental designs, but there's one in particular she's always been drawn to.

"This one's my favorite," she croaks, tracing the horseshoe on the side of his neck.

As badly as Dessie wants to take his time and make sweet heavenly love to Catherine, he knows he's running out of time. Sooner or later one of the guys will come barging in to drag him out to the barn.

"Turn around," Dessie ordered. "Hands on the wall and spread 'em."

He could feel an ache in his chest as her face dropped. She'd been expecting to worship and be worshiped in return. Not a quicky. He'd make it up to her; it was only Friday night.

When Catherine spun around and placed her hands on the white tiled wall, Dessie grabbed the bottle of lube. He spread a glob along his shaft, then reached down and smeared the leftovers along her slit.

Running his hands down her curves, his fingers bit into her wide hips as he slowly eased inside of her. Catherine hissed at the delicious sting of Dessie stretching her flesh.

"Fuck...you feel good, baby."

Catherine moaned a response, pushing her ass against him as a hint to pick up the pace. He moved his hips at a lazy speed, knowing full well that if he didn't she'd end up sore and uncomfortable. Gritting his teeth, he took a moment to enjoy the hot water beating down his back, as well as the warmth of her wrapped around him.

There was only one other woman he's ever fucked raw. Dessie had forgotten the closeness that came along without having a thin latex-barrier and he had no intention of pulling out at the end either. It wasn't that he was purposefully trying to knock her up; he was more so throwing caution to the wind.

Only when he felt her relax did Dessie bottom out in her, quickening the pace at which he drove his thrusts. The vulgar sound of wet skin slapping filled the small space of the shower, so did her strident whines.

"Look at you, takin' my cock like a good girl," he snarled. "Always so eager to have me balls deep in ya."

He had to restrain himself from calling her a bitch or a whore, having found out the hard way she didn't respond well to degradation.

"I can't help bein' eager for ya, Dessie. Your cock is the best I've had."

"Don't fuckin' lie. I don't need my ego stroked." He let go of her hip and pulled her wet hair, roughly pounding into her.

Catherine wasn't lying. Who would've thought the best sex of her life would be with a man she hadn't been instantly attracted to?

When Dessie wanted to be raunchy, the man got dirty. When he wanted to tone it down, she never realized such intimacy was possible between two people.

"But I'm not lyin'." She shrieked when he hit her cervix, but the pain quickly dissipated into something more pleasurable. "You've done things to my body no one ever has."

Hearing that was almost like a challenge to Dessie. He slipped his index finger into his mouth, making sure it was good and slippery before spreading her cheeks. Catherine was so focused on what he was doing with his cock, she didn't realize what he was up to until she felt his wet finger press against her.

She froze, and Dessie could tell her Catholic shame was kicking in.

"What are ya doin' back there, Dess?"

"Shhh," he cooed. "Relax for me."

Catherine opened her mouth to object, but all that managed to come out were jumbled words and unexpected moans. There was a little bit of pressure, but nothing she couldn't handle, as he teased making small circles.

"Did _he_ ever touch ya like this?" His voice was rough, his words strangled with envy.

It wasn't difficult for her to understand it was Jimmy who Dessie referred to.

All she could manage was a shake of her head. Her eyes squeezed shut as he pressed harder on her puckered hole, gliding the tip of his finger inside. He slowed the rhythm of his hips. Catherine swallowed her groans, revelling this newfound delight as he carefully worked her open.

One of these days, he'll claim the virgin territory for himself.

"You don't have to be quiet here; be as loud as ya want. Let me hear how much ya love it when I play with your ass."

A shaky, needy moan spilled from her mouth.

"How does that feel?"

Catherine struggled to find the right combination of words. "Idunno. Wee bit weird. _Really _fuckin' good."

He wasn't going for weird, but he'd take it as long as she thought it felt good. Dessie was about to add a second finger when a loud banging on the bathroom door interrupted them. The door was open, but thankfully, whoever it was had the common decency not to barge in.

Stopping mid-thrust, he kept his finger buried in her ass and prayed they couldn't be seen in the mirror from the doorway.

"Dessie!" She recognized the voice of Connor Broderick. He sounded rushed and out of breath. "Real sorry to be cuttin' in on your ride, man, but we got him talkin'."

Dropping his forehead onto Catherine's shoulder, Dessie muttered words in Irish she didn't understand.

"I'll be out in a wee second."

When Dessie removed his digit, she hadn't expected to feel so...empty without it. Catherine tried to wriggle free from his hold.

"Where do ya think you're goin?" His hands gripped her hips again.

"They need ya-"

"They can wait. I haven't finished."

She braced herself against the wall and twisted her neck to throw him a flirtatious smile. "Do your worst, Heavy D."

His jaunty laughter filled the shower when he heard her call him the nickname the lads bestowed on him.

* * *

When they finally managed to pull themselves out of the shower, Dessie walked into the bedroom to find Catherine dressing. She was rolling on a pair of thick wool socks over her black leggings before putting on her boots.

He dressed in silence, not wanting to seem like an asshole by telling her she wasn't coming with him. It didn't matter to Dessie that she too was an active member of the army, most likely seeing her fair share of bloodshed over the years. He worried about her bearing witness to the kind of gratuitous violence his crew - and especially he - was capable of.

Sitting at the foot of the bed, Dessie unlaced the boots he shucked earlier. Catherine had gotten up to put on one of his hooded sweatshirts.

"I want ya to stay here," he ordered, not even looking up at her.

Catherine pulled her damp hair out of the sweatshirt's collar. "What? Why?"

One of his worst fears was that they'd fight over the cause. He hoped she'd understand that just because they were dating, he wasn't going to let her get involved with his business in south Armagh. Things ran a lot differently in Bandit Country than they did up north in Belfast. Before she took a break from her duties, Dessie always thought it was a major mistake on Jimmy's part to include her in a lot of the things he did.

Dessie didn't owe her an explanation. After her demotion, he out-ranked her; no longer was it the other way around. However, ruling with an iron fist was more Jimmy's style, not his.

"Ya don't need to see that shite."

She snorted and placed her hands on her hips. When Dessie looked up, he couldn't believe she was pouting like a fucking child. It was obvious she wasn't used to hearing 'no' in Belfast.

That would explain a lot.

"Jimmy lets me watch the Casey brothers all the time. I highly doubt your crew can do anythin' worse than what those psychopaths are capable of."

When he finished lacing his boots, he stood and picked up the flannel shirt she laid out for him on the bed. "Well unlucky for you, sweetheart, I ain't Jimmy O. And before ya go off puttin' the Casey brothers on a goddamn pedestal, need I remind ya which brigade had the most successful campaign durin' the Troubles?"

The daggered tone told Catherine she unintentionally hit a nerve. She didn't mean to diminish what Dessie and his crew managed to accomplish and still does.

Dropping her hands from her hips, Catherine scuffled over to him. On her tip-toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"I'm sorry," she said, kissing him. "I didn't mean any disrespect. What youse do down here is invaluable to us up north." She kissed him again, this time with a little tongue. "Please let me come with ya. If I'm gonna join youse here I wanna see how things are done."

The sweet innocence of her voice made it difficult for him to believe such a girl could be wrapped up in the same world he was. It wasn't her thought out argument that made him change his mind, though. It was the kisses and crotch grab that did him in.

This was the only time he'd allow the minx to manipulate him. At least that's what he told himself.

"Fine. You've a balaclava?" She told him she didn't and he dug through his bag, tossing her one. "You're to be seen, not heard, yeah? It'll be a bloody mess, literally, so try to stay out of the way."

She promised she wouldn't make a peep.

From the car, Dessie grabbed his balaclava and pistol from the glove compartment. He tucked the weapon into the waistband of his jeans then put on the face mask. Catherine followed his lead. Grabbing her hand, they walked the several hundred yards to the barn.

The entire time, Catherine's heart raced. There was no way to prepare for what she was about to waltz into. No matter how many times she watched Sean and Michael Casey inflict the worst forms of torture onto another human being, it never got any easier to see.

Following Dessie inside the barn, the putrid stench of burnt flesh and singed hair mixed with a metallic twinge hit Catherine like a ton of bricks. A chill ran down her spine when terrified screams of a grown man rang loud in her ears. There was so much going on, she was having a hard time taking it all in.

When they walked further inside, Dessie dropped her hand and without a word pointed to a spot out of the way for her to stand. In the shadows, Catherine tried to comprehend the scene in front of her. Her stomach churned. It was worse than anything she's ever seen before. This wasn't Jimmy's watered-down version of an interrogation, this was IRA hell.

A large plastic tarp covered the floor and it was lined with several buckets of water. A crowbar, wooden baseball bat, screwdrivers, pliers, and teeth were scattered about. The Real army man they'd abducted was stripped completely naked with the exception of a blindfold. His wrists were cuffed and chained above his head, leaving him to dangle. Catherine followed the thick chain up to a support beam running across the ceiling where it was anchored.

She swallowed hard when she observed his bloody mutilated body. Burn marks and cuts so deep she could see muscle. White, round stickers were attached to his genitals and only then did Catherine connect the dots to the buckets of water and car battery. These guys were old school. Back in Belfast, they used a Taser if they wanted to give someone an electric shock.

While she felt sick to her stomach, Dessie walked right up to his crew like it was a normal Friday night.

"What's the craic, boys?" Dessie asked lighting a cigarette.

"Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this," Connor said.

Everyone wore balaclavas so it was difficult for Catherine to differentiate between them until they spoke.

Rory peeled off the blood-soaked latex gloves and tossed them on the ground. He kicked the Real army man's feet. "How did you hijack the shipment from Dublin?" When the bloke remained silent for several moments, Rory picked up the baseball bat, striking him hard across his gashed ribcage. "How?" he shouted.

As he wailed out in pain, he struggled to breathe. Not wanting it to happen again, he started talking. "We didn't get the shipment from Dublin! It came in through Kerry earlier that mornin'! Some old fella came to us and said we could have it so long we did 'im a favor."

Connor was right; Dessie really did want to hear this. After his crew had gotten that piece of information out of the Real army man, they stopped probing so Dessie could take over. "The old fella; he have a name?"

"Idunno," he cried, starting to squirm. "Didn't care to take names."

That didn't satisfy Dessie. He yelled, "What did he look like?"

"Don't remember! I've no idea who he was!"

He asked once more for a name or physical description. When Dessie got the same answers, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and took the pair of pliers that were handed to him. Two of the masked men lowered the guy to the floor.

Catherine placed a hand over her mouth as Dessie placed a foot on his chest, then grip his hair at the crown of his head. It was hard for her to watch the man she was slowly falling for being so deviant when he's always been the opposite around her.

She tried to look away when Dessie shoved the pliers into the man's mouth, latching on to one of his teeth. As he twisted and pulled, screams of agonizing pain tore her soul. When Dessie had the tooth out, and he handed it, along with the pliers, off to someone.

"What did he look like?" Rory didn't raise his voice, but his tone was menacing.

"Stop, please, stop," he begged, blood sputtering out of his mouth. "I don't remember! That's the truth!"

Catherine flinched and turned away when Dessie kicked him in the face.

Seeing him do this was too much for her to handle. Not only because of how horrific it was but every time he landed a punch or a kick she wondered when he'd turn on her as Jimmy had.

Dizziness set in as her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. In the back of her throat, she could feel the burn of bile. Bood pounded loudly in her ears, it drowned out the noise around her. Her heart thundered so hard, it fluttered. Her vision became disoriented as if she were looking through a fish-eye lens.

Catherine had to get out of there; she couldn't be in that barn for a second longer. She couldn't be around him.

Numbness tingled her hands and her legs felt like jelly as she ran towards the door. Once outside, she ripped off the balaclava right before she fell to her hands and knees in the damp grass. Catherine tried to catch her breath, but the weight on her chest and the grip tightening her throat kept her from being able to. Her lungs burned the same way they had when Jimmy held her underwater in the bathtub all those years ago.

Fat, hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she asked herself over and over what the hell she was doing with Dessie. The images of him beating her bloody as Jimmy had made her cry and shake harder.

"Catherine!" She heard Dessie yell from behind her.

She tried to get up so she could run from him, but she lost her balance and went tumbling back to the ground.

Dessie took off his balaclava and dropped to his knees beside her, trying to pull her into him. It wasn't hard to recognize what was happening to her - he'd seen it many times before. The worst days of the conflict may have been over, but now they were forced to live with the trauma.

She smacked his hands away, screaming, "Don't ya fuckin' touch me!"

"What the hell happened in there?"

He never thought he'd see her lose her edge. He tried again to hold her; this time she pushed him so hard he fell backward.

"You're just like him!" she cried. "What you did in there…you'll do the same to me when I piss you off!"

Hearing her spew such an accusation crushed Dessie's soul. This was exactly why he wanted her to stay in the house. He wanted to be angry with her, but he wouldn't when he realized the damage from her relationship with Jimmy ran deep. Dessie wondered if she ever thought that way of Darragh, but then again she never saw how brutal Darragh was, too.

This was all on him. It was his fault for not standing his ground.

The only thing he could do was try to prove to her that despite what she saw, he didn't allow his doings in the IRA to cross over into his personal life. Lunging at her, Dessie wrapped his arms and legs around her, so this time she couldn't fight him off.

"Get off me!" Her screams echoed through the quiet countryside. She thrashed and struggled, but it did nothing to loosen his hold on her.

"Listen to me," he growled, tightening his hold. "It doesn't matter how much you piss me off, I would never even think of layin' a goddamn hand on ya, Catherine. I've never hit a lass and I never bloody will, that's God's honest truth."

"You say that now but you-"

"There is no but! It made me sick when Darragh told me of the things Jimmy's done to you. He ain't a man; he's a coward who abuses everyone who's weaker than him. When I was married, I was as much of an angry prick as he is, but I never once took it out on my girls. You gotta trust I'll never take it out on you or the boys, and I'll protect youse with my life."

Catherine stopped fighting him. Though she was still trembling and trying to catch her breath, Dessie could feel her start relaxing. He wished he could see her face, but her back was pressed against his front. Trusting she wouldn't lash out, he released a hand so he could wipe her tears away.

"Watchin' you be with Jimmy, then goin' a year without hearin' from ya only to find out you were knocked up and shackin' up with Darragh...it fuckin' hurt. For the last eleven years you're the only one I've genuinely wanted to be with, but if you're gonna hold Jimmy's sins above my head, this isn't gonna work."

She let Dessie's words sink in. He was right. It wasn't fair for her to allow her past with Jimmy to infect the wonderful relationship she had with him. This was her chance to start over and build a new life, and she wasn't going to let it go that easy.

"I trust ya, Dess."

"Do you really? Not just sayin' that so I'll let ya go?"

She shook her head. "I'm not just sayin' it. You've been nothin' but good to me since we met. This is the happiest I've been since…" she trailed off, clearing the lump in her throat. "Sometimes I like to think he's the one who pushed us together this past year. He was gettin' tired of watchin' us be miserable on our own. I miss him so much."

"I do, too, baby." Dessie held her a little tighter, wishing he didn't have to let her go. "I gotta head back. Give me a kiss and go inside; take a bath or somethin' and try to relax. Not sure how much longer we're gonna be so don't wait up."

Tilting her head back, Catherine pressed tender kisses to his lips. When she pulled away, he kissed her hand then got up to help her. He lit a cigarette and kept an eye on her, heading back to the barn only when he saw the light in their bedroom turn on.

Soaking in the rare moment alone, Catherine ditched her jacket and sweatshirt before sitting on the bed. She held her face in her hands, trying to make sense of what the hell happened.

In her heart, she knew Dessie was nothing like Jimmy. Her fear had gotten the best of her and the hate she felt for herself, not Jimmy, grew ten-fold. Catherine abhorred the fact she'd allowed him to break her down so badly, she didn't think she was capable of having a healthy relationship.

Deciding to take Dessie's advice, she wandered into the bathroom and turned on the faucet of the clawfoot tub. When it filled, she stripped, climbed in, and tried to soak her worries away. She washed with Dessie's bar of soap then got out when the water turned cold.

After taking out her contacts, scrubbing her face, brushing her teeth, Catherine dressed in fleece pajamas and crawled into bed with a book. Finally relaxed, she dozed off before reading a single paragraph.

It was after one in the morning when Dessie, Connor, Rory, and Jack made it back to the house. Kieran and Aidan were on their way to Derry to drop the lifeless body in Real army territory before dawn.

"Drink, Dess?" Connor asked woefully, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen.

A night like this, normally he would drink himself into a drunken stooper, then fall asleep with little recollection. Tonight, he shook his head wanting nothing more than to curl up with the woman waiting for him upstairs.

In the bedroom, Dessie chuckled and smiled. Catherine was sound asleep with her glasses on, a book resting on her stomach. He softly closed the door behind him, strolling over to the bed. Taking off her glasses, he then gently tugged the copy of _Catcher in the Rye _from her hands and place it on the nightstand. Clicking off the bedside light, he kissed her forehead.

He took a shower, and as the burning water beat down his head, neck, and back, Dessie didn't dare close his eyes. The memory of what happened in the barn was still too fresh in his mind.

Getting out and drying off, he stepped into a fresh pair of boxers before climbing into bed beside Catherine. She stirred, turning over to wrap him in her arms before he had the chance to do it to her. She held him close and kissed his head; he could feel her warmth. Neither made an effort to take things further, content with the embrace.

In her arms, he felt safe. It was what Dessie needed.

"Try to get some sleep," she whispered. "I'll fight the nightmares if they come for you."


	58. Loch Ness Monster

It was nothing like the frantic performance that descends after their reunion. It was raw and honest, peacefully slow.

Sleep still glossed their eyes as Dessie wrapped strong arms around Catherine. He sat on the edge of the bed, she in his lap. Her legs loosely curled around as he helped guide the lazy rhythm. She nestled one hand in his hair, the other on his shoulder. Their lips grazed, every so often coming together for an unrushed kiss.

She holds him close; slick foreheads pressed together. His fingers bite into her backside as he thrusts one last time, overtaken by euphoric release. Before the sunlight of a new day even caresses their skin, she feels the pulsation of him coating her walls.

Running his fingers through her damp hair, Dessie pushed it away from her face. He smiled, revealing the crooked teeth she adored.

"Maidin mhaith," he said.

_Good morning._ Finally, some Irish she understood.

"It most certainly is."

Uncurling her legs from his waist, Catherine climbed off Dessie and disappeared into the bathroom to clean up. He pulled a cigarette from the pack on the nightstand, lighting it. He leaned back against the pillows, throwing an arm behind his head. When Catherine came back into the room, he blew smoke rings in the air and watched her slip on his t-shirt. As much as he loved seeing her naked body, there was something about her wearing only his shirt Dessie found incredibly sexy.

"Think they heard us?" she asked, straddling his thigh.

Dessie handed her the cigarette and all he could think about was how her bare pussy was rubbing against him. "Who cares? Plenty'a times I've had to listen to 'em. And never once did the lasses sound nearly as satisfied as you, if I may say so me'self."

He laughed as her face turned three shades of pink. Catherine smacked a hand over her eyes and dipped her head, shaking it. Dessie took the cigarette from her fingers to place it in the ashtray. He ran his hands under the shirt, lightly tickling her soft curves.

"You've nothin' to be embarrassed of. But if you keep sittin' on me like that, they're gonna hear ya again."

Catherine raised her eyebrows, gliding her fingers through his coarse chest hair. The way she leaned forward meant Dessie could feel her slickness even more.

"I dunno if you've another round in ya."

Was she fucking serious?

She shrugged, "Maybe in about a half-hour... "

Dessie took the bait. He friskily tossed her onto her back, proving he didn't need a half-hour.

Mid-morning, they finally managed to drag themselves out of bed and get dressed. They were greeted by three men with sly grins on their faces as they sipped their coffee.

While Catherine made breakfast, she tried to overhear the hushed conversation at the table. Dessie's brow severely furrowed and his jaw tightened as Connor and Rory spoke in his ear. She sensed there was something they weren't telling her, but she knew better than to ask questions.

Handing off plates piled high with eggs, sausage, and toast, they thanked her, immediately digging in. When she placed one in front of Dessie, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her down into his lap. Her giggles were muffled when he kissed her.

Rory dropped his fork onto the plate with a clatter and an eye roll. "Literal chunks risin'."

"Leave 'em be, gobshite," Jack chide with a mouthful of food.

"Easy for you to say. Ya weren't woken up at the ass-crack of dawn by a headboard damn near comin' through the wall."

"That's because I had the pleasure of bein' woken up durin' the first act."

"I'm sure t'was a pleasure for ya there, Jack." Connor rasped. "Twenty quid says ya were standin' outside the door chockin' the chicken listenin' to 'em go at it."

"I wasn't standin' outside the door...pressed my ear to the wall."

Dessie broke his lip-lock with Catherine and reached across the table to punch Jack in the bicep. "If I find out you're havin' a wank listenin' to us, I'll rip your cock off an' shove it down your goddamn throat. Got it, Shrinky Dink?"

Jack swallowed hard, heeding Dessie's warning. Catherine felt like she was going to implode at any second from the embarrassment, while Rory and Connor choked back laughter.

"Shrinky Dink?" she asked.

Picking up a link of sausage, Jack pointed it at her. "I'm a grower, not a shower."

Another round of snorted laughter erupted.

"That's okay." She swiped the sausage from his hand and took a bite. "What matters is ya know how to use the lad."

"While I appreciate the pep talk, I gotta say it's not helpin' comin' from you considerin' you're with the Loch Ness Monster over there." Jack pointed to Dessie.

Catherine wrapped an arm around Dessie's shoulders, and he avoided eye contact with her as he started eating his breakfast.

"Hell's he talkin' about?"

"Nothin'. Don't listen to 'em, they're eejits."

"Ya see, Catherine," Connor began, "Dessie's mickey is like Nessie. All the birds talk about how big it is, but we've never actually seen it for ourselves."

"It's like south Armagh's own urban legend." Rory chuckled.

Dessie could feel Catherine stiffen against him. She dropped her arm from his shoulder and placed her hands on her thighs.

Ignoring the fact Dessie had an active sex life would be naive and Catherine knew that. With two kids of her own, she was mature enough to not let the jealousy get under her skin. She did that by simply not thinking about his life before her, but that was rather difficult to do when Jack, Connor, and Rory were throwing it in her face.

Dessie wasn't proud of his past exploits, just as she wasn't proud of hers. The problem, the notches on his belt far outnumbered hers, and the last thing he wanted was for Catherine to think there was any competition.

"Is it true, though, Caitie? Is it as big as all the birds say it is?" Jack asked.

Dropping his fork, Dessie leaned back in his chair. "Enough already!"

Jack stupidly opened his mouth one last time. "Jeez. Why so cranky, Dess? Between all the sex you're havin' and the operation planned for the peelers tonight, you should be shittin' rainbows and leprechauns."

Catherine turned to look at Dessie. He was beyond irritated and so was she. "What PSNI operation?"

As soon as the question left her mouth, the three quickly gathered their plates, silverware, and coffee heading out of the kitchen.

_I'm gonna fucking kill him_, Dessie thought.

He nudged her off his lap, getting up to lean against the counter.

"Ya can't be doin' this," she said. "Can't risk gettin' picked up again."

Dessie kept his eyes forward, feeling the guilt settle in his gut. Three days after he'd taken her out on their first official date, he'd been picked for questioning on a gun attack on the PSNI station in Crossmaglen. With the little news that did leak from the station, Catherine was a nervous wreck thinking he would be charged. At three o'clock in the morning when he'd been released, Dessie found Catherine standing in the freezing cold waiting for him. With the boys sound asleep in the backseat of her car, he drove them back to his flat where he promised her he'd make sure to never put himself in that situation again.

To some extent, he was upholding his end of the bargain.

"I'm not goin'. I planned it, but I'm not goin'."

"Doesn't matter. You're the first one they'll nab."

"There's nothin' for ya to worry about because we'll be in Belfast when it goes down."

"...because ya need an alibi."

He nodded.

She didn't smile, but Dessie saw the twinkle in her eye. "I guess that's all I am to ya, huh? An alibi."

"Shut your bake," he snorted, pulling her into him. His knuckles brushed her jawline. "If only ya knew what ya really are to me."

Catherine knew. She could see it in the way he looked at her. She was everything to him and he was everything to her.

Neither of them would ever diminish what she had with Darragh or what he had with his ex-wife. But this time around, they felt something different in their bones. After seeing her shivering outside of the station, Dessie realized she was a keeper. For her, it happened a little more innocently. Instead of turning down the volume on her favorite Cranberries song - like Darragh and Jimmy would do - he cranked it up and together they belted out the words to _Linger. _

And then again whenever she saw him with Eamonn and Sean.

What made her chisel away the concrete walls she'd spent so many years building, was Dessie's simple act of asking her two questions:

"_How was your day?" _

"_You gonna be okay?" _

Hardly anyone asked if she was okay. Not her parents, not her brothers. Never Jimmy. Darragh asked only once when she was in labor.

For the first time, she truly felt cared for, loved. She'd do whatever it took to keep him by her side. If that meant having to deal with Dessie being arrested or holding down the house when he was on the run in the Republic, then she'd do it. Dessie was a hardened IRA man just like her father, but for some reason, she believed he had the common sense to step away from operations he felt would destroy their relationship.

Like he had trusted her instincts when she was his commanding officer, Catherine trusted him.

He said there was nothing to worry about, so she held his words close to her heart.

* * *

Catherine sat on the floor with her legs tucked under her and one elbow resting on the coffee table. Dessie was on the couch, a cigarette dangling from his mouth as he disassembled an Armalite to clean and oil it.

"This isn't a good idea," she muttered.

He didn't respond.

"Third attack in seven weeks; you'll put the Brits back on the streets, so ya will."

Dessie set the cigarette in the ashtray and removed the bolt, then the firing pin. "If I wanted your opinion, I'd've asked."

She rolled her eyes. Picking up the smoldering cigarette, she took a drag. "That's not my opinion, it's fact."

"Let 'em patrol then. I'll teach 'em army boys not to wander through Cross again."

"Ya really wanna see that bloody look-out post towerin' over Cross again, too? We're so close to peace."

"Peace? They speak nothin' but lies in London and Dublin. Any day now they'll be breakin' their doubletalk and when that happens, the south Armagh sniper'll be back to work."

It was like talking to Patrick, Darragh, and Jimmy.

"Ya need to give Gerry Adams time. He's-"

Dessie wryly laughed. "Adams, the Kings, Jimmy - they went from tiocfaidh ar la to tiocfaidh Armani. The only reason the lot don't fight harder for peace is because they know there's no money to be made in a unified Ireland. So long as the six counties are hot, youse in Belfast keep sellin' the guns and laugh all the way to the bank while we in south Armagh do the real fightin'."

"Youse in Belfast...you're a real sonofabitch." Catherine stubbed out the cigarette as she shook her head. She didn't appreciate him lumping her into the group which sold-out the cause to pad their pocketbooks.

As he lubed the rifle, he quickly glanced at Catherine. He pursed his lips to hide the smile threatening to break out. He got the exact response he wanted. He knew she didn't care about the money.

Dessie loved riling her up, getting her head back where it belonged. He poked the bear even more. "If ya believe so much in Sinn Fein, why'd ya come back?"

"Because I learned ya can take the girl outta the Ra, but ya take the Ra outta the girl. Sometimes a couple'a bullets and some Semtex speak louder than doubletalk."

He stopped working to light another cigarette. "Atta girl." He pointed to the rifles lined up on the floor beside the table.

Catherine smiled cunningly and picked one up. They worked in silence, mainly because she couldn't get it out of her head as to what the Real army man had said before she spiraled down the depths of a panic attack. She wondered if that's what Dessie and the guys had been talking about at the table as she made breakfast. Desperate to know what was up, Catherine took a shot in the dark.

"I think the Kings are tryin' to have you and I killed, and I think they paid off the Real army to do it. That's why the shipment was hijacked, to lure us."

The cigarette fell out of Dessie's mouth. He picked it up just as it left a burn mark on the carpet. "What - why the hell would ya think that?"

She was quiet for a moment, then decided now was the time to tell him. "Because they had the UVF take out Darragh, so it makes sense they'd do the same to you. I'm sorry for what I did to the fella who I thought killed Simon Townsend, Dessie, he was just the fall-"

"Back the fuck up!" he roared. "What do ya mean _they _had the UVF take out Darragh?"

Catherine started shivering despite the warmth from the fire going in the fireplace. "I only just found out. All of the bombin's youse were doin' in Belfast must'a pissed the Kings off or they saw him as a threat."

Dessie sank onto the floor. He covered his face with his hands mainly since he didn't want Catherine to see the angry tears pooling in his eyes.

"Who told ya that?"

"Liam."

"Liam's a tout, ya can't trust anythin' he bloody says!"

"He wouldn't lie to me about that! He had no reason to."

"Where is he, Catherine? He still on the isle?"

Catherine didn't answer him. She couldn't. If any of the fellas found out she had given him safe passage out of Ireland, they'd string her up in the barn until they got it out of her as to where he was.

"Where is he?" He calmed his voice, but the tone was still frighteningly dark.

"I don't know," she whispered.

Dessie startled her by slamming his hand down on the table. She flinched, then slowly scooched back putting some space between them.

"We promised each other when it comes to the cause, there'd be no lies. I know you know where your brother is. Where's Liam?"

"Why? Why does it matter where he is?"

She'd never forgive herself if something happened to Liam. Being off the island didn't mean he was safe from punishment.

"I wanna talk to him; find out what else he knows."

"I can't tell ya where he is, but I can arrange a call."

Catherine watched as Dessie's jaw flexed. He understood why she refused to give up Liam's location. Truth was, he greatly admired her loyalty. She was exactly the kind of woman he needed in his life, especially when he would inevitably need to dip for the Republic when the PSNI came knocking.

He nodded. He could compromise with a phone call.

"The old bloke we're lookin' for; blonde, goatee, glasses. Short and pudgy. Sound familiar?"

"Mother'a Christ," she hissed.

"Indeed. Looks like the priest in Belfast may be doin' a little more than offerin' _guidance _to the Kings."

"Did he say who the bomb was meant for?"

"No one specific," Dessie re-lit the cigarette and handed it off to Catherine after taking a drag. "But they were told to take out as many True lads as possible. Considerin' it's only my crew who does those shipments, they obviously wanted to get rid of us. I guess they're gettin' tired of us doin' our own operations down here."

She rolled her lower lip between her fingers, clearly deep in thought. "Reroutin' the shipment to Kerry for 'em to pick up makes sense, yeah? But why shoot at us if they were just gonna blow up the van? All it would look like is an internal feud if they found us lyin' dead in the road."

"When I was in the Provisional back in the '80s, we used the same tactic on Brit convoys. Sprayin' 'em down with bullets would lower their guard for a second attack because they'd think that was it. But once they were out of the vehicles, we'd trigger bombs we buried near the road. That's why I felt so uneasy when we got out of the car...it looked too familiar. What doesn't make sense to me, is that they blocked the road so the other fellas couldn't get through."

"They probably thought we'd have the entire crew on 'em. We easily would've outnumbered and outgunned 'em if they let us all through."

"Aye," he breathed, drumming his fingers on the table. "What do ya wanna do about the Kings, though? Can't just let 'em get away with it."

"Tiocfaidh ar la, Dessie. Their day will come, too."

"Care to share with the class, O'Toole?"

Moving on to his lap, Catherine laced their fingers when he wrapped her in his arms. She rested her on his chest telling him exactly how she planned to bring down the True Irish Republican Army and usher in the new era of Oglaigh na hEireann.

* * *

Dessie avoided Belfast as much as possible. He didn't hold any personal grudges against Northern Ireland's buzzing capital, he just preferred quiet living in the countryside instead. But he needed an alibi and a night out with the girlfriend was always a safe bet.

He sat on the couch in the living room of her house, as she was upstairs getting ready. It was Jimmy's agreed upon weekend with Eamonn, and Sean insisted on being with his Uncle Brien. Without the two high-energy boys running around, the house seemed too quiet for Dessie's liking. When they walked through the door and he wasn't immediately ambushed by them, he filled with a sort of sadness he hadn't expected, nor could explain.

As Catherine strolled down the stairs, he was taken back by how utterly stunning she looked. A deep emerald dress hugged her figure, the color of the fabric bringing out the youthfulness of her creamy skin. Her hair flowed loosely down her breasts in beach waves. It was a sin, Dessie thought, for her to be covering those magnificent legs with a pair of tights, and he chuckled when he saw her worn Dr. Marten boots on her feet.

She was always wearing those damn boots.

"Seamus said he's workin' at the Rock tonight, and the Irish Brigade are playin' so I figured we'd check 'em out."

He slowly stood, thinking over her suggestion. It was times like this where the generational gap between them was painfully obvious. Dessie wasn't too keen on being at a pub where a rebel band would be playing. A quiet place where no attention would be drawn was more his taste.

"I dunno, Cate. I don't want trouble."

"Oh," she said softly. "I get it; we can go to the Felons instead then."

Dessie watched the smile fall from her face as she put on her wool peacoat. The disappointed look she wore was a kick to the groin; no wonder why she was a spoilt brat.

He helped pull her hair out of the collar of the coat, then placed his hands on her hips. "No, we can go to the Rock, but the first sign of trouble, we're outta there. And ya gotta promise me you'll behave."

Catherine didn't take offense; she understood his apprehension. The night could go from being absolute fun to completely disastrous in the blink of an eye.

She promised she'd be on her very best behavior, then they headed out.

Closing the front door behind her, she grabbed his wrist. "Dess, I gotta show ya somethin'."

He gave her a quizzical look. Curling her fingers around the hem of her dress, Catherine pulled it up just enough to reveal her surprise.

Dessie bit his knuckle and his cock instantly stiffened. Those weren't tights she wore. He nearly lost his damn mind at the sight of her in a garter belt and stockings.

"You're the biggest fuckin' tease, ya know that?"

"Aye," she said, dropping her dress back into place. "And you love it."

Dessie huffed, admitting defeat. "I'm gonna be chubbed up for the rest of the night."

Staring right into his deep brown eyes, Catherine reached out a hand and cupped him. "Would ya look at that; so ya are."

* * *

When they arrived at the Rock Bar, it was packed. Dessie managed to snag a spot at the bar, letting Catherine have the barstool as it was the last one.

Once he saw them get settled in, Seamus Doherty set two pints and two shots of Bushmills in front of them. After clinking shot glasses, they each tapped their glass on the bar, then tossed it back.

A shiver ran down Catherine's spine as the warmth of the whiskey tingled in her belly. She chased with a gulp of Guinness. Licking the foam from her upper lip, she scoped out the crowd to see if anyone she knew was there. She spotted a few girls she'd gone to St. Dominic's with, and they waved to her.

"Motherfucker," Dessie muttered into his glass. He caught it the same time she did.

At the other end of the bar nursing what Catherine knew to be Johnnie Walker, sat Jimmy.

He was supposed to be at home spending time with Eamonn. Not drinking alone in a pub. If she would have known he would just pawn their son off on Fiona and Kerrianne, she and Dessie would have stayed home with the boys instead.

As badly as she wanted to storm up to him and ask why he wasn't with Eamonn, Catherine knew she couldn't. All he'd do is point out the fact she was there, too, then make a snide comment implying she was a bad mother.

She could also tell Jimmy's unexpected presence irritated Dessie.

"Ya wanna head down the road to the Felons?" she suggested.

Dessie set the glass on the bar. He wasn't going to be run out of a pub because Jimmy was there, too. West Belfast was Catherine's territory; he had no business being on this side of the river.

Then again, he didn't want her to feel awkward.

"I'm fine so long as you are. If you're uncomfortable, we can leave."

She shook her head and that was a good enough answer for him.

When the band started playing, her old school mates came over to steal her away from Dessie. Grabbing her pint, Catherine kissed his cheek then pushed her way through the crowd to get closer to the makeshift stage.

Dessie slid onto the barstool and ordered another pint as he polished off the first one. If he drank enough, he'd be able to forget Jimmy was on the other end of the bar staring him down. When he glanced up, he cursed to himself seeing Jimmy was making his way over.

Standing beside him, Jimmy ordered another scotch for himself and a whiskey for Dessie.

"I can buy me'self a drink."

"I dunno about that," Jimmy said arrogantly. "Takin' care of a lass and two bastard kids that aren't even yours, I can imagine money's tight."

It was true Dessie often struggled to bring in a steady income, nevertheless his finances were none of Jimmy's concerns.

"Hell of a way to refer to your kid."

After one of the bartenders filled their glasses, Jimmy took a sip raising his eyebrows. "She's spread her legs for so many of the fellas, who knows if he's even mine."

Dessie knew that was a damn lie. He also had a very low tolerance for bullshit fathers who tried denying their children simply because they were upset with their mothers.

"The wee one looks just like ya. Now, stop talkin' before ya say somethin' stupider," he warned.

Jimmy pushed the three fingers of whiskey in front of Dessie before resting his back against the bar to look out into the crowd. His eyes instantly found Catherine.

"Christ, she's gorgeous," he loudly gushed. "Wouldn't ya say so, Dess?"

Unamused, Dessie gave Jimmy a side-eye. "Aye, she is."

"Ya know, green's my favorite color on her. Her dress is the same color her knickers were the first time I got a taste of her sweet cunt." Jimmy slapped Dessie on the arm. "And I'll have ya know, it happened down in Cross, so it did."

Dessie picked up the glass of whiskey and gulped it down. He bared his teeth when the rough burn of the booze slid from his chest to his stomach.

"How does she feel now that I've loosened her up for ya?"

"Ya did a piss poor job then because she feels brand-new after the first two-inches."

What Jimmy failed to understand is, unlike Patrick and Darragh, Dessie wouldn't dignify anything he said with the physical response he was seeking. Instead, Dessie would take the words being spat at him and throw them back in Jimmy's face.

Jimmy tore his eyes away from Catherine and huffed, not expecting the comeback. Dessie slid off the barstool and grabbed his pint when he heard the opening lines to _Fighting Men of Cossmaglen _being played.

"Here's what's gonna happen, Jimmy. I'm gonna go be with my girl; you're gonna finish your drink. Then, you're gonna quietly go home and spend as much time as ya can with Eamonn, because once Catherine and I are married, you'll never be seein' her or the boy ever again."

"Please...she'll never marry a fella like you. Once she gets ya outta her system, she'll be right back with me."

Dessie could only chuckle. "I'll let ya think that."


	59. Peace on Earth and Mercy Mild

Sitting in a small dingy, smoke-filled room which smelt of mildew, Dessie bit his nails as he focused on every word spilling from her beautiful mouth. He couldn't understand her in the slightest, but the fact she spoke Russian with such ease and fluency left him more proud than dreadful.

"It's like watchin' a monkey fix a car," Rory muttered.

Dessie shot him a nasty look, then hushed him. The two men took her light tone and occasional laughter as a good sign. He checked his watch, growing frustrated they were hitting the one-hour mark since she took the call with her contact in Moscow. It was Christmas Eve and he wanted to hit the road soon to make sure they made it back to her parent's house in time.

"Nyet," she said, shaking her head. "Da svidaniya, Misha."

Catherine snapped the phone shut, tossing it on the desk. Rory immediately reached over and grabbed it, sliding off the back case to remove the SIM card.

"So? What'd he say?"

Lighting a cigarette, Catherine leaned back in the chair. "He agreed to stop sellin' to Jimmy if we want the AK's; said he'll tell him it's because the deal with Putlova fell though. Since we'd only be buyin' small stock, he wants us to pay for the entire cache until he can find another buyer to pick up what we don't take. Then he wants cost, plus thirteen-percent for whatever we buy in the future."

"Shite," the two men huffed.

Collapsing back into his chair, Dessie scrubbed his face with his hands. "How much would it be to buy out the cache?"

"Forty-grand. And that's without the overhead of greased palms at the port and SAMBEL's cut."

"Fuck SAMBEL," Rory blurted. "The Provos did it without SAMBEL; we can, too. So we'll need forty-five in cash. We can easily pull that together."

"From where?" Dessie asked. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs. "Even if we drained all the money from this place and the pub in Newry, and dug into our own pockets, we won't even come close to that. And then what happens if they can't find a buyer within a month?"

Rory didn't have an answer.

"I can talk to my Da and ask where the decommissioned Provo weapons are. Maybe we can dig that shite up and sell it? I'm sure a couple'a surface-to-air missiles and RPGs'll go for top dollar in the Middle East."

Dessie looked at Catherine like she sprouted three heads. "I mean this with the utmost respect...are you outta your fuckin' mind? First - If we swipe from the boys of the old brigade, we might as well dig our graves while we're out there. Second - I don't want ya to have anythin' to do with the gun trade anymore. The small number of guns we buy from the Russians is to supply our stock only."

"It was just a suggestion," she shrugged.

"How did youse get the True army off the ground?" Rory asked Dessie.

"Not a fuckin' clue," he admitted. "I was a Provo until the bitter end. By the time I jumped over they've already had everythin' set up."

"They got lucky with SAMCRO and the fall of the Soviet Union. AK's were dirt-cheap back in the early '90s and McKeavy already had a close relationship with Clay. We only started smugglin' cigarettes and petrol when the price started climbin' again. If we weren't tryin' to do this quietly, we could rip the rug out from Jimmy and the King's feet and claim that operation as ONH's. We'd be self-sustainable if we could claim all the profits from it."

"T'would be bloody genocide if we did that," Rory professed.

Catherine crushed her cigarette in the ashtray. "I may have enough to cover it. It'll be nearly every penny to my name, but I think I have it."

Both stared at her with wide eyes. They weren't sure if they heard her correctly.

"I'm sorry, what?" Rory inquired. "How?"

"Someone once told me there's a lot of money to be made in an unfree Ireland...turns out he was right." She glanced at Dessie and the corner of his mouth curled into a smirk. "I've been runnin' guns since I was nineteen-years-old, and I've been savin' what I can from my cut of the profits. With a house and two kids, it may not be as much as I think, but I can get youse a number."

Dessie was having one hell of a moral dilemma. The respectable side of him was screaming that he couldn't allow Catherine to sink her savings, especially when he had little money himself to help her out if need be. Being off the cigarette and petrol shipments meant he wasn't seeing a cut of the profits, and it was doing severe damage to his bank account. On the other hand, he was so desperate to get out from under the thumb of the Irish Kings, he didn't care where the money came from just as long as they had it.

He needed time to think it over.

"It's gettin' late, and it's Christmas Eve. I think we should table it for a couple'a days and come back with fresh minds."

"Aye," she and Rory agreed.

"The boys are probably wonderin' where the hell we are," Catherine said, standing up.

Dessie handed her coat and scarf to Catherine. He zipped up his jacket as she hugged Rory, wishing him a happy Christmas. After he said his goodbyes, too, Catherine and Dessie slipped out the back door of the small pub in Crossmaglen.

The sun had long since gone down, and the roads were slick from rain. With the falling temperatures, Dessie worried the pavement would ice over, and that's exactly what he'd been trying to avoid. They should have been back in Belfast an hour ago, but Misha - Catherine's contact in Moscow - kept pushing back the time he would call her.

When they reached his car, Dessie opened the door for Catherine and she thanked him with a kiss. He held her hand as he drove, only letting go to shift gears.

She broke the comfortable silence once they were on the A1. "I do feel like a wee dick though, takin' the Russian pipeline. Screws over my Uncle Filip...what are they gonna do without the AK's?"

"I get how you're feelin', Cate, but don't feel the least bit sorry. Jimmy'll find a new supplier to keep the boys in Cali flush."

"What are we gonna do once Jimmy and the Kings figure out it's us takin' their business?"

Dessie rubbed his thumb along hers. "I've been thinkin' about that. We may have no choice but to take the boys and make a run for the border, but I'll do everythin' in my power to keep us in Cross. I don't want ya worryin' about that, though. Remember our deal - you focus on the logistics, I'll worry about what those bastards throw at us. It's all gonna work; everythin'll be okay."

"Promise?"

Lifting her hand off his lap, he kissed her soft knuckles. "I promise, baby."

* * *

Catherine gently closed the front door behind her, trying to make as little noise as possible. She planned to just sneak in, and pray her parents wouldn't notice.

Too bad the boys ratted them out.

"Dessie!" They yelled, jumping off the couch and making a mad dash for him.

Before he had a chance to get his jacket off, both of them ambushed him. Dessie dropped down to their height and gather them in his arms.

As they filled him in on every detail of what happened while he and Catherine were gone, all she could do was commit the sight to memory. Life felt whole again when all of her boys were together. She loved how Eamonn and Sean took to Dessie, and she loved how wonderful he was with them. Considering he was the first and only boyfriend Catherine has ever brought into their lives, it had been a weird, rocky adjustment, especially for Sean.

On several occasions when he caught Dessie holding Catherine's hand or stealing kisses, the young boy grew suspicious and almost jealous. The more time he spent in Belfast, the more the boys were coming around.

"Ma's about ready to kneecap ya," Brien warned. "I tried takin' over your job of peelin' spuds but I cut my wee thumb."

Catherine shot her brother a look of faux remorse as he held up his bandaged thumb. She was just about to open her mouth for a sarcastic response, but the fear of God set into her bones when she saw Olivia emerge from the kitchen. Her mother's brown, graying hair was tied up in a loose bun, her apron was splattered with flour, and her face flushed thanks to the heat given off by the oven and stove. Catherine gulped when Olivia pointed the dreaded wooden spoon at her.

"Do I need to buy you and Dessie new watches? Because the ones youse have now must be banjaxed! You're an hour late, so ya are! Get your arse in here and start peelin'."

Hanging up her coat and scarf, Catherine cursed herself for agreeing to take a business call when she should have been with her family. She kissed Eamonn and Sean on the cheek then headed into the overheated kitchen.

Dessie watched her disappear, turning his attention back to the boys once she was out of sight. He felt bad for being the one to insist she speak with Misha so late in the afternoon, wanting to hammer out a trade deal with the Russians as soon as possible.

"What do ya say we go see if your ma needs help?" he asked.

"Don't do it," Brien cut in. "My Ma'll have ya slicin', dicin', and choppin' in no time. She's got my poor Da in there right now stuffin' cloves into the ham."

Dessie didn't mind if he was put to work. "It's my fault we were runnin' late. I suppose the punishment would fit the crime."

The boys took off for the kitchen and Dessie followed once he got his jacket off. He found Catherine sitting at the table next to Patrick, peeling potatoes like a pro. He was impressed that she was doing it the old school way, too. Spud in one hand, knife in the other. Eamonn was on Patrick's lap, helping him stuff cloves into the diamonds of the scored ham.

Before Dessie even had a chance to fully sit down, Olivia tossed a peeler on the table in front of him. Picking it up, he reached into the bag and grabbed a potato, getting right to work.

"I wanna help," Sean whined.

Catherine set her knife down so she could hoist Sean onto her lap, but Dessie was faster. He set the boy on one of his legs and showed him how to hold the peeler. Unable to take her eyes away from watching Dessie guide Sean through the tedious process, she nicked her thumb with the blade.

"Sonofa-" she cursed, dropping the knife and potato, pinching her thumb to help subside the pulsing sting.

"Are you okay, Ma?" Sean's voice held obvious concern.

She nodded, showing him there was no blood.

"That's what ya get for doin' it that way," Patrick lectured.

Picking up the knife, Catherine went back to work. "I like doin' it this way, especially on Christmas Eve." When the memories came flooding back, her heart filled with an ache of grief that never seemed to go away. "This is how Uncle Filip and I would do it."

Olivia stopped dicing onions for the turkey stuffing and came up behind Catherine. She wrapped loving arms around her daughter, kissing the top of Catherine's head. It didn't matter nearly twenty-years had passed since Chibs left Belfast, his absence was still felt, even more so during the holidays.

"Ya feelin' okay?" Olivia asked, pressing the back of her hand to Catherine's cheeks and forehead. "Doesn't she look a wee pale, Paddy?"

"I'm fine, Ma. Just a wee headache."

_Still? _Dessie thought. He remembered her telling him she was feeling under the weather a couple of days ago. Not to mention she'd been more fatigued than usual. Olivia was right - she did look ashen and drained.

Patrick glanced up, then shook his head. "If she says she's fine, she's fine."

Brushing off her husband's dismissive comment, Olivia hurried off to make Catherine a cup of tea.

What Catherine refused to admit, even to herself, was that the hearty, once comforting scents of the Christmas dinner being prepped was making her stomach turn. She had been queasy on-and-off since breakfast. The stress of moving forward and getting ONH off the ground was finally getting to her.

There was no point in telling Dessie or her mother. It would only make them worry.

"Maybe we should skip Mass tonight," Dessie suggested.

"Ya know, I'm a wee sick, too," Patrick added. "We should definitely skip Mass."

Catherine and Olivia glared at their respective men.

"If Catherine wants to stay back, she can but don't think you're gettin' out of it that easy." Olivia set a mug of steeping tea in front of Catherine.

"I don't wanna go, either. It's _so _borin'." Eamonn huffed.

Sean flicked a piece of peel off his fingers. "If Eamonn's not goin' then I'm not goin'."

Catherine ping-ponged her pointed finger between Dessie and Sean, and Patrick and Eamonn. "No one is missin' Mass tonight. It's been too long since we've gone, people are gonna start thinkin' we're heathens."

They all fell silent, returning to work with their heads hung low. From where she stood at the stove, Olivia mouthed a gracious "thank you" to Catherine.

Brien waltzed into the kitchen, taking the pot of already boiled potatoes - for bread in the morning - off the stove and drained them for Olivia. "Ya don't have to lecture me about goin' do ya, Ma? I take ya every Sunday."

With her back turned to her brother, Catherine rolled her eyes as she brought the mug to her mouth. She mumbled, "Fuckin' mamma's boy."

Patrick and Dessie snort-laughed, and unfortunately her comment hadn't been as quiet as she hoped.

"Ma!" Brien complained. "Are ya gonna let her talk about me like that?"

"Apologize to your brother." As the words left Olivia's mouth, Catherine silently mouthed the same words, having known full well it was coming.

It earned herself another round of snickers, this time from Eamonn and Sean as well.

Turning around in her chair, Catherine curled her fingers around the top of it. "I'm sorry," she said with a hint of sincerity. "...that you're a mamma's boy."

* * *

St. Matt's echoed loudly with the sweet harmony of the organ and the parishioners singing _O Come, All Ye Faithful_, as Father Kellen Ashby and the altar boys descended the aisle to the alter.

The east Belfast church was packed, not a space in the pews could be found. Midnight Mass on Christmas Day was a longstanding tradition very few families missed, even if this was the only day of the year they attended.

Jimmy couldn't concentrate. Not when Catherine and Dessie were standing in his view. As she held Sean, he held Eamonn. It took nearly every ounce of self-control he could muster to not make a scene by tearing his son from the arms of another man. It also made him sick to see how Eamonn, who was half-asleep, so familiarly wrapped his arms around Dessie's neck, his head resting on the man's shoulder. Jimmy nearly gagged when every so often the couple would look at one another, then smile like love-sick teenagers.

What made him feel pangs of melancholy and not seething jealousy, was the reminder that Catherine once looked at him with the same mesmerized love shimmering in her eyes. Now, she could hardly stand to be in the same room as him. When she dropped Eamonn off nearly a week ago, she hadn't so much as said two words to him, only speaking to Fiona.

He wondered what kind of half-cocked stories Dessie was filling her head with to turn Catherine against him. Her combative behavior towards Jimmy had only begun after they started dating.

Jimmy overheard Kerrianne ask Fiona, "Am I the one who thinks they're a cuter couple than when she was with Darragh?"

Fiona shook her head. "Your Auntie Liv says she's never seen Catherine so smitten, and he's really good with the boys."

Jimmy peered to the girls standing on his right. When they saw the tight grimace on his face, they found it more comical than they should have.

"I think someone's jealous," snickered Fiona.

Kerrianne covered her mouth to hide the smile as Father Ashby began Mass.

During the homily, Catherine rested her head on Dessie's arm. He placed his head against hers, soaking in the moment they were spending as a _family. _He was used to attending Mass on his own, so having Eamonn in his arms, and Catherine and Sean close beside him made it all seem like a dream.

"Why does Father Ashby keep lookin' at us like he's seein' ghosts?" Catherine whispered in his ear.

He lowered his voice to match the same hushed volume of hers. "Because we're supposed to be dead. Can't figure out how his brilliant plan didn't work."

After Mass, the boys had caught their second-wind, excited to get back to the house. Since Darragh's death, it had been a routine for Catherine and the boys to stay the night at her parents on Christmas Eve. Being surrounded by her family, helped ease the sorrow of no longer having him there on Christmas morning. However, this year was doomed to be just as difficult, with Liam no longer taking part in the festivities.

To help ease the guilt she felt for banishing her eldest brother from his home, she had shipped several boxes to Filip in California for him to give to Liam, Shauna, and Erin.

Outside of the church, the O'Toole clan managed to catch up with Fiona, Kerrianne, and Jimmy. As the sister-in-law's finalized plans for the gathering in just over twelve hours, Catherine knelt in front of Eamonn.

"Go say goodnight to your da," she urged, fixing the woolly hat on his head.

Not having to be told twice, Eamonn wandered off to Jimmy, who instantly swept the boy up into his arms.

With Sean goofing around with Brien and Patrick, Dessie wrapped a protective arm around Catherine's shoulders.

"The last I was here," she recalled, "I'd just been told of McKeavy, and as I and my Da were finishin' up a smoke, the goddamn peelers swarmed the place and arrested me."

"Rory came to mine at like five in the mornin' to tell me what happened. Every time my phone rang, I was terrified to answer, thinkin' t'was the call sayin' ya were transferred to Hydebank."

"Ya weren't the only one terrified of that."

"What now?" Dessie muttered under his breath when they spotted Jimmy walking over to them with Eamonn.

"You've plans for your birthday?" Jimmy asked Catherine.

Still irritated from what was said the last time he saw Jimmy, Dessie jumped in. "That's none of your business."

"You can answer when I ask you."

Catherine placed a hand on Dessie's belly, shooting him a pleading look to be civil. She took Eamonn from Jimmy, gesturing him to join his brother.

"No plans set in stone, yet-"

"We do have plans," Dessie interjected.

This was the first Catherine was hearing of any plans, so she kept a stoic expression as to not undermine Dessie in front of Jimmy.

"Oh," Jimmy said. "Well, I'm takin' Fi and Kerri to Dublin for the New Year; wanted to bring Eamonn, too."

Catherine spat bitterly, "Why? So you can pawn him off and go drinkin' alone?"

"You can take him." Dessie had planned to ask Rory if his teenaged daughter could watch the boys on New Year's Eve, which was also Catherine's birthday. But if Jimmy wanted to be a father in the short time he had left, then Dessie wasn't going to let Catherine keep Eamonn from him.

Even though Jimmy was told what he wanted to hear, it didn't come from the person he wanted to hear it from. "I'm failin' to see where ya fit in all of this Dennehy. What happens with Eamonn is between me and Catherine."

Dessie reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He tucked one into the corner of his mouth, realizing he needed to walk away before he said or did something that upset Catherine. Reluctantly, he left her alone with Jimmy, joining Brien a little way down the sidewalk.

"And what you're failin' to understand is that Dessie's in my life whether ya like it or not. He's not goin' anywhere so ya better get used to it. There will not be a repeat of what happened between you and Darragh." Catherine spoke through clenched teeth. "If ya want to take Eamonn, ya can. So help me, Jimmy, I find out you've left him with Fi again, there will be hell to pay."

Jimmy took a step closer to Catherine, lowering his mouth to her ear. "Look at ya, actin' so bold now that you've a man to protect ya. I wouldn't threaten me if I were you."

"It's not a threat. It's a goddamn promise."

Jimmy made a glance to see if Dessie was watching him. His attention was focused on Sean.

Jimmy kissed her on the mouth, and she pushed him away. He smirked. "I'll see ya tomorrow, a chuisle."

* * *

Arriving back at Patrick and Olivia's, the boys couldn't shed their jackets and shoes fast enough. They made a bee-line for the robustly decorated tree, digging through the wrapped gifts to find the ones they knew they were allowed to open tonight.

Dessie took Catherine's coat and scarf, hanging it up before doing the same with his. He placed a light hand on the small of her back as they walked into the living room, illuminated only by the bright, colorful lights on the Christmas tree.

"Savages, the lot," Catherine joked of her sons. She turned on the lamp on the side table and took a seat on the floor with her boys.

They instantly jumped on her, the sight bringing a smile to Dessie's face. It had been so long since he last spent Christmas with a family. The joy it brought his heart was a warmth he never wanted to let go of.

Brien emerged from the kitchen, holding two glasses of Bailey's. He nudged Dessie in the ribcage with his elbow.

"Happy Christmas," he said, clinking glasses.

Dessie wished Brien a happy Christmas, too, then took a mouthful of the cream liqueur. He swallowed hard, almost coughing, having not expected there to be a heavy shot of whiskey hiding in there. "Shite. It's warm in Ireland tonight, so it is."

Brien chuckled. "Aye. The old man believes the water of life should be in everythin'."

Olivia lowly turned on Christmas music in the background as Patrick claimed his favorite chair. He pulled his wife down onto his lap, wrapping her in his arms as he watched his daughter and grandsons on the floor.

"Da, here's yours," she said, handing the gift off to Patrick. "And yours, too, Ma."

Sitting on the sofa next to Brien, Dessie set his glass on the table. The last thing he ever wanted to do was keep Catherine from her family, but as he watched her with the boys all he could think about was their future. This was exactly what he wanted for them in Crossmaglen. He wanted her to make a house feel like a home, he wanted to see her playing and laughing with _their _children. To have their own Christmas traditions.

Pulling two boxes from the deep pile, Catherine handed one to Sean. "Give this to your Uncle Brien." She handed the other to Eamonn. "And this one to Dessie."

As the boys hurried off to complete their task, Brien and Dessie accepted their gifts with a thank you.

"I'm so sorry she's doin' this to ya," Patrick chuckled to Dessie. "But then I do suppose it makes ya part of the family, Dess."

He set the modest box in his lap, unable to take his eyes from the tag where Catherine had written his name in cursive. Even her handwriting was perfect to him. "What is it?"

"They're-"

Catherine placed a hand over Sean's mouth. "Don't ruin the surprise, ya blabbermouth."

"It's a god-awful tradition my wee sister managed to sucker us all into when she was like eight, and it only gets worse the older she gets."

"Hey," Catherine smiled. "I went really, really tame this year so I can gently ease Dessie in. Now, open!"

It was a flurry of wrapping paper, box lids, and tissue paper as the seven of them tore into the gifts. Dessie unfolded the black long-sleeved shirt, then a pair of red and black plaid pants. He looked up to see his matched everyone else's.

She bought them all matching pajamas and included him.

He expected nothing less of the same woman who'd only recently caught the stray cat who wandered around near his flat and found a home for. His heart floundered and he pulled himself together really fucking fast because he could feel the sting of tears prickling his eyes.

"Ya like 'em?" Catherine asked, sliding onto the sofa between Dessie and Brien. She rubbed a hand along Dessie's back and he melted under her touch.

"Aye. They're cracker." He kissed her temple. "Thank ya."

Pajamas were never his style - he preferred sleeping in his boxers no matter how cold the night became. He'd wear them as long as it made her happy.

Brien set his pair on the table and leaned over to kiss the top her head. "Thank you for not gettin' ones that are horrendously ugly."

"Just for that, I'm goin' balls-to-the-wall tacky next year." She usually tried to find the most outlandish patterns she could, then force them all to take a group photo so the memory could last forever.

Shaking her watch so she could look at the time, Catherine couldn't believe how late it was getting. "I suppose I should get 'em to bed. They'll be wakin' me up to open gifts before the sun even rises."

"I'll help ya," Dessie chuckled, getting up with her.

He crouched next to the boys, then tossed them over each of his shoulders. Shrill shrieks and fits of giggles filled the living room, and Eamonn and Sean blew kisses to their grandparents and uncle as they were carried up the stairs. Catherine followed close behind, their new pajamas in hand.

Once upstairs, Dessie helped her get them changed. With the fear of waking up to no gifts under the tree, Catherine didn't have to fight with them to get their teeth brushed.

In their mother's childhood bedroom, Eamonn and Sean climbed up into the bed, while Catherine fell to her knees at the edge. She patted the space on the floor beside her and Dessie kneeled where he was told to.

"We're gonna do somethin' different tonight," she said, getting the boy's attention. "Dessie and I are gonna say it in Irish, instead of English, so don't worry if youse have a hard time keepin' up."

Guiding her boys through the sign of the Cross, they all folded their hands, and together Dessie and Catherine said a Hail Mary in Irish.

Catherine's favorite line, "guigh orainn na peacaigh," was tattooed on the side of Dessie's left forearm.

_Pray for us sinners._

After prayers were said, Catherine grabbed the tattered copy of _The Night Before Christmas _off the nightstand. The four of them curled up in bed and listened to her read.

Just as she finished and closed the book, Patrick stuck his head in the room, pointing his index finger at Dessie.

"You're on the couch tonight. I'm a light sleeper and I'm keepin' the door open so I'll hear if there's any funny business goin' on up here or downstairs."

While Catherine's cheeks turned brighter than the Christmas tree, the color drained from Dessie's face.

Bidding them all a goodnight, Patrick headed down the hall to turn-in for the night.

Once Eamonn and Sean were tucked in, they kissed them goodnight and jogged downstairs. Olivia and Brien were already busy stuffing gifts from Santa under the tree.

Running outside quick, Dessie grabbed the bursting shopping bag which Catherine stashed in the trunk of his car days ago. A small box had fallen out, and Dessie picked it up. Under the glow of the streetlamp, he read the tag:

_To: Dessie_

_From: Eamonn and Sean _

Smiling to himself like an idiot, Dessie tucked it back into the bag, then grabbed his gifts from the backseat.

By the time the four of them finished arranging the presents, it was half-three in the morning. Brien headed up to his old room in hopes of catching a few hours of sleep, while Olivia set Dessie up on the couch with a pillow and blanket.

"Thank you, Mrs. O'Toole, " he said, his voice coated with exhaustion.

Kissing Catherine's cheeks goodnight, Olivia cautioned, "Youse don't stay up too much longer. Those boys'll be up soon."

Assuring her mother she'd be right up, Catherine then took a deep breath and enjoyed the fleeting peacefulness. It had been a long day, and tomorrow would be even longer.

Dessie was sitting on the couch taking off his boots. Watching him do such a mundane thing brought a smile to her face. Catherine wasn't sure if it was the ambiance of Christmas or what, but when she looked at Dessie, her heart swelled with a bursting affection that was foreign. It was definitely love, that she was sure of. A slow-burning flame of romance.

Strolling over to him, Catherine pushed Dessie back and straddled his lap. Without a word, she crashed her mouth over his. They shared a kiss, unlike the thousands they've shared before. His hands groped her denim-clad ass, her hands on either side of his neck. When they pulled apart, Dessie licked his lips, desperately hoping her taste still lingered on him. Even he was left swimming in the aftermath such an intimate kiss.

"What was that abo-"

Catherine gently covered his mouth with her hand and stared so deep into his eyes, she saw his soul.

"I don't want or expect ya to say anythin' back; I just need ya to listen. You'll probably think I'm crazy for sayin' this so soon but I don't give a shite. I truly believe you're the answer to my prayers. You've calmed the storm that was not only my life but my son's lives as well." She took a shaky breath. For the first time, she didn't feel nervous or scared to utter the words. "I love you."

Dessie wrapped soft fingers around her wrist, prying her hand away from his mouth. Never once did he break eye contact. Dropping her wrist, he gathered her face in his strong hands. Hearing those words spill from her mouth somehow made his heart beat faster and slower at the same time.

"Then I'm just as crazy because I love you, too."

She looked as if she was in complete disbelieve; she couldn't comprehend that she'd ever be loved back.

"Ya really mean that?" she asked, tears slipping from her eyes as she blinked. "Ya love me?"

"I love you," Dessie confessed again.

Leaning forward, Catherine kissed him once more. Her hands slid down his chest and abdomen, coming to a rest on his belt. When he felt her start to loosen the strap, Dessie pushed her hands away, ending their lip-lock.

"Ya should be headed up to bed."

"If we're really quiet, I can stay down here."

Dessie shook his head. As blue-balled as he was, he didn't have it in him to disrespect Patrick like that. "I'll be right here when ya wake up." He kissed her forehead. "Goodnight, sweetheart, and sweet dreams."

Climbing off of him, she walked to the stairs. When she climbed the first two steps, Dessie calling her name stopped her.

"Happy Christmas," he said.

Catherine smiled warmly. "Happy Christmas, Dessie."

And a happy Christmas it was.


	60. Just Crazy Enough

Catherine poked one of the potatoes swimming in boiling water as Padraic sat on the counter. Brien handed him and Catherine each a can of Guinness which they opened without the slightest hesitation.

"The scary lookin' bloke with the neck tattoo," Padraic said, then taking a sip from the can. "You're shaggin' him."

Catherine nearly choked on the mouthful of beer she was in the middle of trying to swallow when her cousin so bluntly spoke. Normally considered to be the quiet Telford, Catherine hadn't expected such a statement.

"Aye," she coughed. "And it's the best goddamn sex of me'life, thanks for askin'."

"I didn't ask."

Brien's face twisted with repugnance. "Ya need more female friends to talk to. There's just somethings a brother doesn't need to hear about his sister's personal life."

Catherine grabbed the damp hand towel sitting on the counter and threw it at him.

"He's a Provo, right? I mean look at him; he's gotta be," pried Padraic.

"He was," she said, feeling comfortable enough to divulge that piece of info. It was public knowledge that the Provisionals disbanded three years prior.

"So he's True Army now, isn't he?" Brien asked.

Now that she couldn't admit to, so she shrugged.

"Are ya talkin' of Dessie?" Kerrianne asked joining her cousins in the kitchen. She leaned into Brien when he threw an arm around her shoulders. "Oh, Caitie, he's a bleedin' stunner, so he is. Please stay with him, he's so sweet. The only person who can't stand him is Jimmy. And your babies'll be so adorable, too."

Catherine felt her cheeks instantly start to burn at the mere mention of babies. Logically, she knew it was still far too early in their relationship to be thinking about wee ones. And considering Dessie had just turned forty-two, she wasn't even sure if he wanted any. Though, every time she saw him with the boys, her hormones took over, her ovaries screaming at her to let the most wonderful man she's ever been with knock her up. She couldn't shake the fear she felt over the stigma of having children with different fathers, and that's what made her keep her pants on.

"If Jimmy hates him, then ya know Dessie's treatin' ya right," Padraic chuckled.

"Amen to that." Brien clinked cans with him. "He's a keeper so long as Jimmy can't stand him."

Catherine turned off the burner under the potatoes. "Sean's still a wee jealous of him bein' around so much now, but Eamonn is practically glued to his hip. Did ya see how it didn't faze Eamonn when Jimmy showed up? He kept on playin' with Dessie."

"Am I interruptin'?"

The four of them turned around to see Jimmy standing in the doorway. They all made _"oh, shit" _grins at one another, unsure as to how much of their conversation he heard.

"Nope, all's good, Jimmy." Padraic jumped off the counter.

Brien nudged Kerrianne forward. "Just gettin' out of Caitie's way so she can set the table."

Catherine was none-too-pleased they were leaving her alone in the kitchen with him.

Jimmy set his empty glass on the counter and unscrewed the cap from a bottle of Jameson. He poured heavily, watching Catherine remove a stack of plates from the cabinet.

"Eamonn and Dessie seem to be gettin' along," he said, putting the bottle back.

Catherine squeezed her eyes shut for a quick second, resenting him for bringing this up on Christmas, out of all days.

His son seemed too cozy with the south Armagh man for Jimmy to believe their relationship was only three months old.

"How long were ya hidin' that from me?"

Catherine gently set the plates down then dug into the drawer for silverware. "Please don't do this today."

"Hey," he huffed defensively. "I'm not lookin' for a fight, I just wanna know when youse started shaggin'."

"That's none of your goddamn business. But if you're so inclined to know, we first shagged about a year ago. We were both confused about how we felt after that and it wasn't until three months ago did we decide to give it a shot."

That wasn't at all what Jimmy wanted to hear. They spent a lot of time together during the months they weren't screwing around. It was a lot of time for a genuine friendship, and romantic feelings to evolve.

"Ya love him?"

"Yup."

Tossing napkins on top of the plates, Catherine gathered them and the silverware, then marched into the dining room. Unfortunately for her, Jimmy followed.

As she started setting the table, Jimmy stood off to the side nipping from his glass.

"I doubt ya love him more than ya love me. And the sex can't be all great...how are ya even attracted to such a low life?"

What neither of them knew, was Dessie had seen Jimmy follow Catherine into the dining room. He didn't like the idea of her being left alone with him, so Dessie inched his way down the hall, ready to jump in if need be. When he heard Jimmy's question, he strained hard to hear, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"Ya wanna know somethin' Jimmy?" she asked, placing her hands on the table. "I love him more than I ever loved you, and - no disrespect to Darragh - the sex I'm havin' with Dessie is the best I've had. Was it love at first sight? Absolutely not. Did it take me a long time to realize I was attracted to him? Aye. But now that I'm with him, I truly understand what a kind, lovin', and - and gentle man he is. I will never lessen what I had with Darragh, but in the decade I knew Darragh, I never felt like I _knew _him. And to be honest I've never known you, either. Dessie, he actually lets me in...he talks to me. I feel like he's the only man I've ever gotten to know emotionally. Knowin' he can be open and honest with me, and I can be open and honest with him, well, it makes me feel like the luckiest girl in Ireland."

Both men were left stunned for very different reasons.

"So, Dessie's a pussy is what you're sayin'. Can't lessen what we have either, a chuisle. We share a son."

Catherine snorted and got back to work setting the table. "What we _had _was nothin' more than a fling between two people with very misplaced feelin's. As for our son, he was nearly two-years-old before ya even met him. Don't act like you're some super da. Dessie has been more of a father to Eamonn in the last year than you've ever been."

"You're a fuckin' cunt, ya know that? You kept pullin' Eamonn away from me every time I tried to be a father, and don't you ever fuckin' dare say Dessie is more of a father than I am. He's the biggest deadbeat of 'em all."

It took everything Dessie had not to jump in and defend himself. He knew Jimmy's tactics, and he was afraid she would believe the lies Jimmy told her about him.

"I kept Eamonn from you because I couldn't trust ya to be a good da. So go ahead and call me all the names ya want. The difference between you and Dessie is that he knows he was a terrible father and he's desperate for the chance to make it right. You're just a shite father who doesn't realize it."

"I'm a shite father?" he sarcastically asked. "You've never given me a fuckin' chance to be one."

"And ya never ya will have the chance. I'm movin' to Cross when the boys finish school in June."

"No you're not," Jimmy said firmly.

_Yes, she is_, Dessie thought. Even if it were just for the summer, he didn't need to know that.

"I am, and there's nothin' you can do to keep me from leavin'."

"You are not fuckin' takin' Eamonn from me, ya hear, Catherine? If ya dare try to come between my son and me, I swear to God I'll-"

"You'll what?" she taunted. "You'll try to make mine and Dessie's life miserable? Get over yourself, and stop actin' like a teenage girl."

"If you leave for Crossmaglen, those boys'll never see you again."

Jimmy's vicious warning sent a chill through both Catherine and Dessie. The thought of anything happening to her, almost made Dessie lose his mind. He couldn't let Jimmy talk to her like that anymore.

Catherine picked up a plate to throw at Jimmy, but she stopped herself when she saw Dessie in the doorway. The hard expression on his face assured Catherine he heard everything Jimmy said.

"There a problem, Jimmy?"

Jimmy looked at Catherine and smirked. It was a smirk that scared her half-to-death. Dessie may be True army now, but he still held the old-school intellect of a Provisional. Meaning, he'd be unforgiving if he were to find out about her affair with an Englishman or the fact she touted to the Kings. Jimmy could ruin her relationship and her life in the blink of an eye.

"No problem here," he said, keeping his eyes on Catherine.

Dessie tossed his thumb over his shoulder. "Then get the fuck out."

Jimmy was man enough to admit that Dessie had a set of steel balls. Every few men in the ranks dared to speak to Jimmy in such a way. As far as Dessie was concerned, Jimmy wasn't his chief of staff - he didn't care enough to watch his words.

Strolling towards the doorway, Jimmy drank the rest of his Jameson. Dessie moved out of the way so Jimmy could squeeze through, and he had to stop himself from laughing when Jimmy tried sizing him up. At 5'11 and breaking the scale at just under two-hundred-pounds, Dessie knew Jimmy could probably knock him around in a fight. While Jimmy had his SAS physical training to fall back on, Dessie had been forced to learn unconventional self-defense tactics during his years inside Maghaberry, back when the IRA, UVF, and UDA were integrated.

Dessie wasn't intimidated. He had more respect for the UVF - not a fellow countryman who enlisted in the British Army, then only joined the IRA to mitigate his guilt for betraying the Irish nation.

It was a slap in the face, Dessie thought, for the Kings to promote a man who once patrolled the streets of Northern Ireland wearing the uniform of the enemy. There were so many men worthy of the top-position, himself included.

Watching Jimmy disappear down the hall into the living room, Dessie closed the space between him and Catherine. He placed his hands in the curves of her sides.

"You okay? I'll never let him do-"

Catherine slapped her open hands down his chest. Tears instantly exploded from her eyes.

"I can't do this again, Dessie. He pulled the same shite when I was with Darragh. That's why I left for Sinn Fein - couldn't play the mind-games anymore."

He had no idea Jimmy had been the reason why she left the Ra nearly seven years ago. Like everyone else, he assumed she couldn't handle the life anymore.

Pulling her in for a tight hug, Dessie placed his cheek on the side of her head so his mouth was close to her ear. He lowered his voice, "When we're done with 'em, you'll never have to worry about Jimmy O again. I'll kill him me'self, so you can be sure of it."

Catherine took a sharp breath, finding herself intoxicated by his comforting notes of tobacco, whiskey, and vanilla. She didn't doubt a word he said. Lifting her head off his chest, Dessie's stomach twisted as he watched her eyes glaze over with violent abhorrence.

"No," she said, shaking her head. "If anyone's takin' him out, it's gonna be me."

* * *

**Crossmaglen - Northern Ireland **

Catherine peered into the rearview mirror and smiled. Belted into their booster seats, Eamonn and Sean were sound asleep. It was only an hour's drive from Belfast to Crossmaglen, but their tiny bodies were still trying to catch up on the sleep they lost during the Christmas hype.

They looked so innocent and peaceful - two things Catherine had never known when she was their age.

A heavy blanket of guilt was wrapped around her shoulders as it set in she was about to take it all away from them. They were supposed to grow up in a better than she did. Not plagued by bitter violence and paralyzing fear.

Three months ago, Catherine stood before her men and self-righteously claimed she was a mother first, and that's why she couldn't lead the rebellion against Jimmy and the Kings. With an envelope full of cash in her bag, she was nothing more than a hypocrite. But then again, she'd been asked before the Kings nearly took out her and half of the south Armagh crew. Catherine tried to justify her actions by reminding herself that an Ireland without Jimmy O'Phelan or the Irish Kings would be a safer place for all.

Parking her Passat behind his Jetta, Catherine killed the engine as she shot him a quick text, asking for help to carry the boys in. As she waited for him to come down, she absently started down the street.

Dessie lived in a one-bedroom flat in the heart of Crossmaglen. The narrow road was lined with Irish tri-color's, as well as the black and amber checkered flag to show support for the Rangers, the local Gaelic football team. She somewhat hated to admit it, but the small town was starting to grow on her. She wondered if she'd really be heading back to Belfast come fall.

When she saw Dessie step out onto the sidewalk, she got out of the car. The first thing he did was hug and kiss her. Though they'd only been apart for a few days, it felt like a month.

Catherine unbuckled Sean and carried him up, while Dessie took Eamonn. He would grab the bags later. Once in the flat, they laid the boys down on Dessie's bed.

"How long've they been sleepin'?" he asked, quietly closing the door behind him.

Catherine grabbed his hand and led him into the living room. "Like an hour. They zonked before I even got on the motorway."

They both collapsed onto the couch. Dessie motioned for Catherine to sit on his lap, but she took him by surprise when she straddled him instead. He ran his hands along her thighs, up her hips, onto her sides.

"How was the drive?"

"Grand, except I was bored outta my tits without ya keepin' me company."

"I doubt that. Bet ya were so relieved when I finally left Belfast."

Catherine laced their fingers together. "I missed ya like hell. Eamonn was sad ya weren't there to read with him at bedtime. I think Sean may've been relieved to see ya go. The first night ya were gone, he was insistent on sleepin' in my bed."

Dessie chuckled, then bit his lip when Catherine started unintentionally rocking on his lap.

"He's slowly comin' around, but I think he will even more when youse are here for the summer."

"Jesus, I hope so," she breathed. "If he's jealous now, who knows how he'll be when we've a wee one."

Catherine dropped his hands so she could slap one of hers over her mouth. She couldn't believe she said that. Dessie looked wholly amused at how embarrassed she became. He rested his head against the back of the couch and rested an arm along the top of it.

"Already thinkin' of us havin' a wee one, huh?"

"I haven't."

Dessie saw right-through her lie.

On Christmas, he admired her courage to take a blind leap of faith and tell him how she felt. He owed the same to her.

"Well...maybe I have."

"Ya have?" she asked, resting her hands on his chest.

"Mmhmm." He nodded. "At first, I was like...it's way too bloody early to even be thinkin' of wee ones, we're not even livin' together, and that they'll come if and when we're ready. But then common sense set in and I realized they don't wait until you're ready. Considerin' I've been shaggin' ya raw without a johnny for some time now, I honestly wouldn't be surprised if it happens."

They were always on the same page.

Catherine was silent for a moment as his words soaked in. Throughout her affair with Ian, they'd used condoms. The first time she rode Dessie in the passenger seat of his car outside of a pub in Newry, they used a condom. Catherine wondered if they both let their guards down and nixed the rubbers because they wanted a baby.

"And if it does happen?"

"We'll figure it out. Don't think you're gettin' away easy though, because I will marry ya. I actually can, unlike Darragh."

"Please don't remind me," she snorted.

Dessie ran his hands up her thighs, cupping her ass. "How much time ya think we've got before the weans wake up?"

Catherine narrowed her eyes. "Forty minutes. An hour if we're lucky. Why?"

In swift motions, Dessie tossed her onto her back and went right for the button on her jeans. "That baby ain't gonna make itself, and all I need is ten minutes."

"Ten minutes, huh?" Catherine asked, pulling his belt loose. "Someone's feelin' ambitious."

Dessie slid her pants and underwear off. "Be careful there, O'Toole. Your mouth is writin' cheques your ass can't cash."

* * *

The boys were down for the night, sleeping soundly in the bedroom. A little after nine, Rory came over and the three adults quietly spoke over glasses of whiskey.

"No chance ya can come up with anymore? Jimmy's gotta have a stash somewhere ya can swipe from," Rory insisted.

Catherine brought the glass to her mouth, taking a sip. "Jimmy would be on the war-path if he found out someone stole from him. And, not to mention, he stopped tellin' me a lot of shite after I was demoted, so I doubt it's even in the place I remember it bein'."

She felt terrible for only being able to come up with half the money after telling them she'd be able to cover the entire transaction. It made her seem unreliable. Catherine had no idea she'd been blowing through her savings so quickly.

"This is a decent start, though," Dessie said, poking the envelope in the center of the table. "If we pull cash from the pubs and combine our cuts of the profits from the smokes and petrol, we should just barely be able to make the payment."

She lit a cigarette. "What if there's a way for us to do this without spendin' a cent of our own money?"

Dessie and Rory glanced at one another, not sure if what they were thinking was the same thing on Catherine's mind.

"How do ya plan on achievin' that?" asked Dessie.

"How would the Provos get money when they needed it?"

Rory chuckled, not thinking Catherine was serious. Dessie, on the other hand, poured himself another shot because he knew she wasn't joking.

"Ya really wanna…" Rory trailed off, and Catherine nodded her head.

"Northern Bank headquarters in Belfast." She locked eyes with Dessie. She could tell he wasn't dismissing her; she needed to sell it to him. "We hit on a Wednesday night - my da said that's the best time because-"

Dessie interjected, "Because all the money that'll be loaded into the ATM's for the weekend'll just be sittin' in the vault."

"Aye."

"You've really thought about this, haven't ya?" Rory asked, passing Dessie the lighter.

Catherine said nothing. She needed a plan b after falling through on plan a. And besides, maybe a _small _bank heist was exactly what they needed to boost morale again. Fellas across Northern Ireland and the Republic were starting to lose faith in south Armagh's ability to take charge.

Dessie twiddled the lighter between his fingers. His face didn't show a shred of emotion. "If we were to do it, how do ya wanna see it play out?"

"Ya can't be serious, Dess," Rory blurted.

Dessie shushed his unusually jumpy intelligence officer, more interested in what Catherine had to say.

Catherine stubbed out her cigarette and gave Dessie the rough overview of what she came up with.

When she finished, Dessie poured himself and Catherine more whiskey. "Ya know what, O'Toole, it's just crazy enough to work."


	61. Potcheen

The farmhouse in Forkhill was in complete disarray. Dessie had surprised Catherine with a raging party to celebrate her thirtieth birthday, and ring in what was expected to be the most difficult, yet most rewarding year of their lives.

There had been no shortage of alcohol, leaving the couple to feel the aftermath of their gluttonous behavior.

"Just drag me out into the yard and shoot me. Put me out of my misery," Dessie groaned, sitting on the bathroom floor.

He pushed his hair off his sweat-slicked forehead, hating the feeling of every muscle, joint, and bone aching. His head pounded, his stomach hurt, and his throat was on fire from having spent the last half-hour puking.

Stepping over him, Catherine sat on the edge of the tub. She cracked open a can of warm Sprite and handed it to him.

"Never again will I let ya convince me shots of potcheen after a bottle of whiskey is a good idea."

"Shots?" Catherine laughed. "You poured the bottle into a bowl and made us all drink from it like it was the bloody Communion chalice."

Dessie took a slow sip of Sprite and tilted his head to the side, trying to piece together the events of the night. "So I did do that, didn't I? Either way, you're supposed to be the sane one and tell me to knock it off when I come up with such brilliant ideas. It's your fault for encouragin' me."

"I encouraged ya because it _was_ a brilliant idea." Catherine's face twisted when he hawked a loogie into the toilet and flushed. "Oh, that's attractive."

Dessie rested his head against the wall. "I said the same about you when I was holdin' your hair back as ya barfed over the railin' of the porch. Brought a wee tear of pride to me'eye as I thought, yep, that's the mother of my future children."

Catherine slapped him on the arm.

"I still can't believe ya know every damn word to _No Sleep Till Brooklyn." _He set the Sprite on the tank of the toilet.

"I'm slightly offended you had such low expectations for my musical tastes. I'm also impressed ya even know who the Beastie Boys are."

"Oh fuck off," he said, playfully kicking her. "I'm not that old; I was twenty when Licensed to Ill came out. Kieran and I use to blast that shite when we'd pack mags, and clean the guns."

"Twenty, huh? I was-"

"Don't ya finish that sentence."

A soft knock on the door stopped Catherine from replying with a smartass remark. Dessie told whoever it was to come in, and once she saw it was Rory, Catherine tried pulling Dessie's t-shirt which she was wearing, down a little more to cover her exposed thighs. Rory was only in his boxers, his blonde hair sticking up in several directions. He looked like he was hurting just as much as they were.

"How ya feelin'?" Dessie teased with a smile.

"You arsehole. Potcheen...never a-fuckin'-gain" Rory felt his stomach churn as the word 'potcheen' left his mouth. He'd forgotten just how potent the Irish version of moonshine could be, and intended to never put another drop into his body. Leaning against the doorframe, he scratched his hairless chest, hating to be the bearer of bad news so soon into the new year. "Got a call from a lad in Donegal; Kings are on their way."

"Cross?" Catherine asked.

"Belfast. They wanna talk to all of us about somethin'."

Running her hands through her hair, Catherine swore under her breath. "What are we gonna do with Sean? If we're bein' called to St. Matt's, my Da is too, and my Ma's in Scotland."

"He's fine at my place with the girls," Rory tried to set Catherine's mind at ease. "The wife's gonna head home and check on 'em, so if plans change and ya can't make it back down, she can drive him to Belfast."

"Any idea why they're comin'?" Dessie pried.

Rory shook his head. "Walsh didn't say. Just that we're to be at St. Matt's by two, and it's nearly eleven now so we better get a move on."

Dessie told him to go wake the rest of the guys sleeping off their hangovers downstairs. Easing up onto his feet, Dessie shook four capsules of pain reliever into his hand, washing them down with water straight from the faucet. Catherine gnawed on her long thumbnail, her heart starting to hammer as her stomach filled with butterflies.

"What do ya think it could be?" she wondered.

Resting his back against the sink, he ran a hand through his bedhead. "No bloody idea."

To say he was irritated was an understatement. Dessie had planned to spend a quiet day back at his flat with Catherine and Sean. With Eamonn in Dublin, he wanted to use the time to bond a little more with the guarded boy.

"I'm hopin' this isn't about my call with Misha."

"I don't think it's about that," he confidently assured. "Jimmy'd already be here, beatin' our faces in with a pistol if it were. You jump in the shower first, I'll make some calls to the fellas up north and see what they say."

Catherine trusted his intuition. She had no reason not to; the attack on the PSNI station ended exactly as he said it would. Neither he nor any of his crew had been brought in for questioning.

Dessie kissed her forehead, then left her to shower.

When it was his turn to jump in, Dessie spent more time just standing under the hot water than he did washing. All of his attention was on Catherine. She stood in front of the mirror in only her bra and panties, her hair still wrapped in a towel as she applied her makeup.

Every man in the True army knew one thing about her - the more makeup she wore, the more anxious she was. With the smoky eyes and a heavy coat of rich red lipstick on her Jolie lips, she looked almost unrecognizable. Dessie wondered if he should take her off the logistics of setting up Oglaigh na hEireann. She didn't need this stress weighing severely on her shoulders.

Unfortunately, he was smart enough to understand he'd lose either way. Pushing her back to only her courier position would be met with resistance. She'd undoubtedly accuse him of thinking she couldn't handle the transition phase, but it was gutting him to see her living in a state of constant dread.

She wasn't sleeping, and she replaced food with cigarettes. The sooner Dessie claimed leadership, the sooner they'd both be at ease.

Turning off the water, Dessie stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist. He slapped Catherine on the ass, laughing hysterically when her hand slipped making her draw a line of red lipstick up her cheek.

"You're an arse," she chuckled, scrubbing the lipstick off with the corner of a damp hand towel. "You've made me mess up my foundation. I'm gonna have to do it again."

"Ya don't need that shite, so I say just wash it all off." He grabbed his toothbrush and squeezed on a glob of paste after wetting it.

"I'm thirty now...I'm an old-hag. I need it to look halfway decent."

As he brushed his teeth, Dessie glared at her. He took the toothbrush out of his mouth, and minty foam ran down his chin as he spoke. "If you're an old-hag, the fuck does that make me then?"

"You're like a fine whiskey, baby," Catherine purred, running her hands up his warm sides. "You get better with age."

"You're gonna make me puke again, and you're so fuckin' full of shite! Ten years ago, when I was in my prime, ya wanted nothin' to do with me."

"You intimidated the hell outta me, so ya did! Then I learned ya do have a heart and you're a good man."

Despite his mouth being covered in toothpaste, Catherine kissed him.

"Don't be goin' off and sayin' that to the lads."

Catherine mimed zipping her lips. "Your secret is safe with me."

* * *

The small room in the basement of St. Matt's was packed. Catherine guessed all of the south Armagh units and over half of the ones in Belfast were there.

Off to the side near the front of the room where Brendan, Peter, Declan, and Galen stood with Jimmy, Dessie wrapped Catherine in his arms. He tucked locks of hair behind her ear.

She rested the back of her head against his chest lowering her voice just enough so only he heard her. "I really thought they would have court-martialed Jimmy by now."

"Me, too," Dessie muttered. "When did ya tell the Kings about him wantin' to lead ONH?"

"Back in October. The day after you set us up to meet with Mickey in Dundalk."

It frustrated Dessie to see the chips weren't falling exactly how he'd envisioned them to. He got a little too confident in his plan to have Jimmy court-martialed and eventually excommunicated. But he couldn't get too upset over the Kings not taking the bait, because he felt like the biggest ass in the world for having asked Catherine to set herself up.

Ever since Catherine told Dessie the truth about Darragh, his vision had completely changed. He no longer intended to make peace with the Kings and figure out a way for the two groups to peacefully coexist. Now, he wouldn't stop until they were in the ground.

"When I dropped Eamonn off with Jimmy, he threatened _again_ to tell ya about Ian, and how I touted. Sometimes I wish he'd stop bein' a pussy and out me already, just so he can look like a dick."

Dessie snickered, "Baby, he does a fine enough job already of makin' himself look like a dick."

He did have a point.

When the Kings eventually took control of the meeting, Catherine didn't like the direction it was going. All Peter and Galen spoke about were how this year would mean big changes to the structure and workings within the True army. At first, it worried her that they were putting them all on shorter leashes as if that was even possible at this point.

Everyone was confused by what Declan meant when he said the True IRA would be expanding. How much more could they expand? They already controlled most of Northern Ireland and parts of the Republic.

Jimmy handed Catherine a piece of paper. "This is the statement that'll be released to the press later tonight."

Moving out of Dessie's arms, she snatched it from his hand and read it to herself. Tension built in the room as her face became flush and her brow furrowed.

She then read it aloud:

"Followin' extensive consultations, Irish Republicans and a number of organizations involved in armed conflict against the armed forces of the British Crown have come together within a unified structure, under a _single _leadership, subservient to the Constitution of the Irish Republican Army." Catherine threw the paper back at Jimmy. "Are ya fuckin' kiddin' me with this shite? Extensive consultations, huh? None of us were bloody involved in those talks!"

She couldn't understand why so suddenly the different groups were merging into one. Sure, they all shared the same main objectives, but they all had different ways of going about them. Catherine was seething. Not only because she wanted no association with the units in Derry, but mainly for the fact all of this happened right under her nose. This wasn't a decision made and formalized overnight. It had to have been in the works well before she was demoted and yet, Jimmy never said a word to her.

"What other organizations?"

Galen hushed the rowdy crowd before answering. "The Irish People's Liberation Organization, Republican Action Against Drugs, and - and the Real IRA."

At the mention of the Real IRA, the room exploded once more with words of detest. Catherine turned to look at Dessie. She pursed her lips and shook her head, his face remaining unmoved. Most of them despised the Real army; they were abrasive and aggressive, too often stirring up trouble for True army units in Belfast and south Armagh.

"Ya really expect us to play nice with the gobshites who tried to kill Catherine, Dessie, and his crew? Jesus, Jimmy, you were there, too, that night. How could ya approve this?" A Belfast volunteer bitterly spat.

Jimmy knew he had to tread carefully. "This is an instance where personal issues need to be put aside. Our main focus in on buildin' a strong, unified presence. The former leadership of the Real IRA assured us what happened was a rouge incident and those blokes were dealt with."

Dessie shared an eye roll with his crew when the blatant lie so easily spilled from Jimmy's mouth.

_Rouge incident?_ Dessie thought. That was a funny way of referring to an attempted assassination sanctioned by the Kings.

"Let me guess," Patrick started. "This single leadership youse speak of is the Kings."

Declan nodded. "Aye. We'll be overseein' the entirety of Northern Ireland, and the fellas in Donegal. The Continuity army is standin' firm on remainin' separate and holdin' their areas south of the border."

"We want the six counties hot again. Dessie, that means we wanna see more activity between Newry and Cross, while Jimmy's focus'll be Belfast. The guys in Derry have already been briefed on what we wanna see from 'em," Peter added.

Dessie wasn't gonna complain about being given the thumbs up to get back to work, but he didn't ignore the swell of apprehension in his gut. After a relatively quiet four years, he wondered what the King's angle on this was. It seemed too good to be true.

He reached out and grabbed Catherine's hand, pulling her back against him. As he wrapped her in arms again, he ignored the death glare from Jimmy.

"This is my final offer O'Toole," he whispered. "Ya wanna stay in Belfast, or ya wanna join me in south Armagh?"

A tight smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. For eight years now he's been trying to convince her to jump units, maybe she's made him wait long enough.

"Only if ya agree to move out of that flat, it's too small-"

Jimmy overheard Dessie's question to Catherine and the vein in his forehead nearly popped. He couldn't lose her to a unit in south Armagh - she was too much of an asset to him in Belfast. He was infuriated with her, but there was no one else who could move vast amounts of guns as she could.

He cleared his throat, going into damage control. "A larger, more active campaign means we're gonna need to be movin' more stock to keep us flush. Catherine, I want ya back on the shipments comin' in from Dungloe. Dessie, you'll be back on the Dublin shipments next month. In addition to what comes in from Boston, we're workin' on a deal in Malaysia. With the Real army now under our control, that means we can start sellin' smokes in the northwest pubs. I'm also ironin' out a deal in Jabalia to bring more guns to SAMCRO."

Catherine felt Dessie go rigid behind her. She knew his desire to say something to Jimmy was excruciating, but he wasn't the type to throw a tantrum. He'd deal with it later, and quietly.

They agreed though, that she'd step back from the gun trade to focus more of her attention on moving cigarettes. In the last couple of decades, a handful of men in the IRA have gone down on weapons trafficking charges, while not a single one of the south Armagh lads have never been arrested for their illicit business. The pay off was nowhere near the guns, but Catherine would rather have her freedom.

The friction was palpable as they all spilled out onto the sidewalk in front of St. Matt's. As most of the men wandered off to their cars in a huff of bitterness, Catherine and Dessie were the only two seeing the bright side of the King's horrible decision.

Crossing the street, Patrick, Catherine, and Dessie stood in a close circle. Dessie told the rest of his crew to meet him back in Crossmaglen, where'd they talk about the looming changes.

"They're fuckin' scared," Patrick said, lighting a cigarette. He handed the lighter to Dessie. "They're only doin' this because they know they're losin' control. They think bringin' in all those other lads will mean they have more support."

"They didn't talk to any of us, because they knew we'd oppose it. One council tryin' to hold this much power is exactly what led to the Provo's splittin' in the first place." Dessie slid on a pair of sunglasses. He was still horribly hungover.

Catherine added, "Once everyone else sees the Kings are only in it to make money off the heirlooms, they'll be scramblin' to reorganize their old operations."

"Youse in a hurry to get back to Cross?" Patrick asked.

Catherine looked at her watch; it was half-three already. "Kinda. We gotta be gettin' back to pick up Sean."

"We can spare an hour." Dessie looked at Catherine and shrugged. "Rory owes me for all the times I spent watchin' his wee ones."

"Meet me at the Rock for a pint, then. I promise it'll be worth your time."

They agreed, knowing full well Patrick was a man who shouldn't be underestimated.

* * *

Thankfully the pub was rather quiet, but that was expected. Dessie placed three pints on the table, then went back to the bar to fetch another. He slid into the booth beside Catherine. She placed a light hand on his thigh, taking a sip of her beer. It tasted like bad decisions.

Patrick snapped his fingers as he drank. "Hands where I can see 'em."

"It's not like I'm wankin' him." Catherine placed both hands onto the tabletop.

Dessie nearly choked on his mouthful of beer.

Patrick responded by sticking his tongue out at her.

"Is a ghost joinin' us?" she asked, pointing to the pint sitting beside her father's.

"Patience was never a virtue ya possessed, Catherine Mary." Patrick kept his eye glued to the door. He stood up when he saw a brunette man, not much older than Catherine, walk in. Holding out his hand, he greeted the stranger rather friendly. "Garrett, boy, thanks for meetin' us. This is my daughter, Catherine, and her fella, Dessie."

Garrett shook Dessie's hand first. "Dennehy, right?

"Depends who's askin'," he said, a hint of apprehension in his voice.

"My Da is Sean Campbell. If memory serves, you worked with him down in Cross."

Dessie knew exactly who Sean Campbell was. He'd been the brigade quartermaster when Dessie joined the Provisionals in 1984.

"I remember your da well. How's he doin' since he retired?"

"As well as you'd guess. He's in the Republic, bitchin' about everythin' and anythin'."

When Catherine shook Garrett's hand, she couldn't figure out why the name Sean Campbell seemed so familiar. Then it hit her; he'd been one of the men she met in Crossmaglen when Jimmy brought her down there. The first time he ever let Catherine get her hands on a sniper rifle.

Garrett sat in the booth and picked up his pint.

"His da and I were in Long Kesh together," Patrick said to Catherine and Dessie. "Couple'a times a year, we meet for a drink, gossip like we're a pair of fuckin' schoolgirls. A while ago he told me his boy here, was livin' in Belfast. Who also - believe it or not - just so happens to work at the Northern Bank."

Garrett looked over his shoulder before leaning over the table and lowering his voice. "Look, I'm not gonna dick youse around and I think we can help each other out."

"How so?" Catherine probed.

Garrett glanced at Patrick and only spoke when he was given the head-nod of approval. "I need money and youse need money. You need access to the vaults, I hold a key that opens the vaults. Tell me the day and time, and I'll make sure I'm the one there so it goes down smoothly. All I ask is that I get a cut."

Dessie drummed his fingers on the table as he thought for a moment. He asked Catherine, "Head out for a smoke?"

She nodded. Following Dessie out of the booth, she told Patrick and Garrett they'd be right back. Stepping out onto the Falls Road, they rounded the corner onto a residential street. Dessie lit a cigarette then handed it to Catherine before lighting one for himself.

"What are ya thinkin'?"

"It can't be this easy, can it?" she wondered aloud. "Like, what are we gonna do? Just fuckin' waltz in there and stuff holdalls with cash?"

"No, we'd use wooden crates. They're a clean burn, won't leave anythin' behind. Ya trust him, though?"

"Yes, and no. I don't know him at all, but I think my Da really wants to help the lad out. He was the one who suggested the place when I mentioned we needed fundin'."

Dessie leaned up against the wall, planting a foot against the worn brick. "I'm just as hesitant. But what other options do we have? I mean, don't get me wrong, your plan was sound, but what if we did just waltz in? If we do this right, it could be hours before anyone realizes what happened."

She couldn't deny he had a point. The goal is to draw the least amount of attention as possible, and that opportunity practically landed in their laps. It still didn't change the fact she knew absolutely nothing about Garrett Campbell. So what if his father had once been in the Ra? As far as Catherine was concerned, he could be setting them up to be nabbed by the PSNI. He admitted he needed money, and as she learned, when a man was desperate he'd make drastic decisions.

If Liam could be a tout, anyone could.

Garrett was known to other republicans and that made Catherine even wearier. They couldn't afford to ignore the possibility he was being paid-off by either the Kings or Jimmy to keep an eye on her movements in Belfast.

"I get your point, but I dunno, Dess. How are we supposed to know he won't double-cross us with the peelers or the Kings?"

Flicking his cigarette onto the street, Dessie understood her apprehension. There was too much at risk to blindly trust someone, even if that someone was the son of a trusted senior officer. He had an idea they'd be thinking the same thing, but he still wanted to make sure they were on the right page.

"What do you wanna do?"

"Regardless, we'd be eejits if we didn't at least consider it. We should tell him we need time to talk it over with the others. And in the meantime, we start surveillance and a lot of it. On him and his family, the bank. Too bad we don't have the ISU in our corner, because then we could have those lads question him."

"I agree we should be watchin' him like a hawk for a wee bit before we decide to use him as our in." Dessie smirked, "As for the ISU not bein' in our corner, though - I wouldn't be so sure about that, O'Toole. If only ya knew what Darragh and I were up to all those years ago."

Tossing her smoke, Catherine hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his jeans. "And I suppose there's no chance of ya ever tellin' me."

"Sorry baby." He kissed her forehead. "But those are secrets I'll be takin' to me'grave. We should head back in before Paddy comes out lookin' for us."

Patrick was still getting used to the idea of Catherine having a boyfriend again. Dessie knew he was at the mercy of the protective father, especially since Patrick was privy to the wandering eye Dessie had at the beginning of his marriage, and then the string of one night stands towards the end. Unbeknownst to Catherine, Dessie was working overtime on winning over Patrick's approval, trying to prove the past playboy behavior he displayed would never find its way into the relationship with her.

What Catherine couldn't understand, was why Patrick was having such a difficult time warming up to Dessie. As for Dessie, he prayed hard his philandering past wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

"Aye," she said, wrapping an arm around his side as they started walking. "Hey, ya can't deny my Da's makin' progress. He referred to ya as my fella, not just 'that bloke' as he usually does. Now come on, I'll buy ya a shot of potcheen."

Dessie's stomach twisted. "Just hearin' you say the word makes me wanna puke."


	62. Whiskey Tango Foxtrot

**January 2009 - Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

Driving home after a long day of work, Dessie dreaded going back to his flat. He knew it would be quiet and empty. An overwhelming sense of loneliness always swallowed him whole for the first couple nights of being away from Catherine and the boys.

It was dark by the time he parked his car on the curb. With heavy footsteps he marched up the stairs to the third floor, shoving the key into the lock once he reached his door. Flipping on the lights, Dessie closed the door then shucked off his boots and bomber jacket.

Still in his work shirt, which was stained with smudges of grease and motor oil, the first thing he did was walk straight into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, Dessie smiled for the first time all day. Reaching inside, he snatched a can of Killian's off the shelf. The fridge door closed on its own as he focused his attention on gently peeling off the note Catherine tapped to the can.

"_One day down, four more to go,_" it read. _"I love and miss you, __a ghrá mo chroí. _"

Fifty miles away and she still managed to brighten his day.

Sticking the note onto the fridge, Dessie headed into the living room. He collapsed onto the couch, propping his feet up on the table. Once he had the Celtics match on, he cracked open his beer and watched unheedingly for an hour before deciding on a shower.

Washing the day off, Dessie picked up her bottle of shampoo. Smelling it only made him miss her so much more. This sentiment of solitude was foreign to him, making him feel lousy because he never missed his daughters - Rosie and Janette - as much as he did Eamonn and Sean.

No longer reeking of the auto repair shop where he worked, Dessie trekked across the hall to his bedroom. Once in a pair of loose-fitting boxers, he was just about to head back into the kitchen to grab another beer when he noticed something laying on the floor, halfway under his bed. He picked it up.

It was a stuffed elephant.

Tossing the elephant on his bed, Dessie quickly dressed. With the animal in hand, he grabbed his jacket and keys.

Eamonn couldn't sleep without it.

* * *

**Belfast, Northern Ireland **

Monday nights were chaotic. Between making dinner, getting homework done, swimming lessons for the boys and a Pilates class for Catherine, she was ready for the day to be over.

Amid the anarchy and on the verge of tears, Catherine almost admitted defeat. She quickly pulled herself together, deciding against calling Dessie and begging him to make the hour drive so she wouldn't be outnumbered.

Catherine blinked back the tears brimming her eyes as Eamonn sniffled, wiping away the tears from his cheeks. She had turned the house upside down thrice over, looking for the stuffed elephant Darragh bought him long ago. Picking him up off her bed, Catherine's heart broke as she thumbed away his tears.

"I promise we'll find him. We probably forgot him as Dessie's." When Eamonn rested his cheek on her shoulder, Catherine placed her cheek on the top of his head. "Dessie should be gettin' home from work soon. I'll ask him to look for it when he calls, okay?"

"But Dessie lives so far away! How am I gonna get it back?" Tears streamed faster, his voice was strangled with worry.

Sitting on the edge of her bed, Catherine started to rock him in hopes it would be somewhat soothing. She kissed his freshly washed hair.

"I don't need ya to worry over that. If your elephant is at Dessie's, I'll make sure you have it for bedtime tomorrow."

"But what if it's not there?"

Eamonn was a perpetual worrier. Just like his dad.

She assured him, "It has to be there. That's the last place ya had him."

That answer seemed to somewhat help. His tears slowed and his breathing started to even out. Setting Eamonn back on the bed, Catherine knelt to pull a plastic bin out from under her bed. She had an idea. Taking off the lid, she dug through her old rugby and volleyball trophies, school projects, until she found what she was looking for.

Sitting next to him, she pulled Eamonn onto her lap, holding out a teddy bear that had seen much better days. He gently took it from her hands.

"This was mine when I was a wee girl. Do you wanna sleep with it tonight?" He nodded, and she kissed his forehead. "No more tears, a stoirín. I promise your elephant is at Dessie's and you'll be snuggled up with it tomorrow night. Now, it is seriously past your bedtime so let's get ya tucked in."

Catherine carried Eamonn into the bedroom he shared with his brother. The soft nightlight gave off enough of a glow so she could see the Legos and building blocks littered all over the floor.

Sean was already fast asleep in the bottom bunk. He was snoring and tangled up in the blankets, his arms tucked under the Harley-Davidson pillow that had been a gift from Brien.

Hoisting Eamonn up onto the top bunk, she helped him get under the blankets. After one last kiss from him, she kissed Sean's temple and headed downstairs.

Crisis averted.

* * *

Catherine was in the middle of starting laundry when she heard the front door open. She didn't bother looking up, thinking it was either Patrick or Brien coming over to raid her refrigerator.

"I don't have any food," she said, pouring detergent into the machine.

"Good thing that's not what I'm here for."

Her blood turned to ice when Catherine heard his voice. Turning around, she saw him standing in the doorway. Hands in the pockets of his trousers, his coat was flecked with wet spots from the rain. On his face was a neutral expression, which Catherine hadn't decided was a good or bad thing yet.

"What are ya doin' here, Jimmy?"

He nonchalantly shrugged. "Haven't seen ya in a while...figured I'd check in. Make sure everything's fine."

The last time Catherine saw or spoke to Jimmy was when he dropped Eamonn off after the holiday in Dublin nearly a month ago. None of their communication was done directly; it consisted of some freshly sworn-in kid dropping off a package or message for her to deliver. She wasn't going to complain about the mundaneness of her new gig; it kept her busy, and most importantly, away from Jimmy.

"Everythin's fine, so it is. You can leave now."

She would ask him for the key back, but she knew he'd just steal it from Fiona. Without a word, Jimmy strutted further into the kitchen and went to the cabinet above the fridge where she kept the booze. He blindly pulled out a bottle of Powers whiskey. That was Dessie's.

Unscrewing the cap, Jimmy tossed it on the counter before grabbing two glasses.

"Make yourself at home," she said sarcastically.

Sitting down at the table with the whiskey and glasses, Jimmy poured each of them a generous amount. "Shut your gob and come have a drink with me."

Drumming her fingers on her hip bones, Catherine thought about all the possible ways this could end. They were either going to end up fighting or fucking and neither of those options sounded appealing.

"Ya need to leave, Jimmy. Dessie wouldn't appreciate ya bein' here when he isn't."

"I don't see Dessie around, do you?" he jeered, bringing the glass to his mouth for a nip. "It's business, not pleasure, anyways. Ya missed a meetin' this past weekend so there's shite I gotta talk to you about."

Reluctantly, Catherine gave in. When Jimmy called a last-minute meeting Friday night when she was already in Crossmaglen, Dessie convinced her to skip it. Initially, her decision had caused some fireworks but eventually, Jimmy got over himself as usual. She sank into the chair adjacent to Jimmy, immediately picking up the glass of whiskey. After she drank nearly half of it, he handed her the cigarette he lit.

"How do ya think the merger is workin'?"

"It's a bleedin' disaster, so it is. RAAD already killed two Belfast men! True army didn't even know 'em to be drug dealers, Jimmy. I don't give a shite if we're a _unified structure_, those Derry bastards need to understand Belfast is off-limits - we will deal with what happens here."

Jimmy took the cigarette back. "I know they're causin' problems. I was out there at the beginning of last week puttin' an end to it. Anytime they want to conduct business in Belfast, they know to get approval first."

"Who did ya chose to replace me?"

"Seamus Doherty."

Catherine licked her lips and sighed. "Doherty is a fine choice."

It was bittersweet for her to learn Seamus was now the third highest-ranking officer in the army. She knew he deserved it and she was genuinely happy for him. She just couldn't wait until she was back in officer status. If she kept her track-record clean for a year, Dessie promised he'd make her his second lieutenant, taking over as operations officer for Kieran. Once ONH was fully operational, Dessie agreed to let Kieran take over the training of recruits.

"There's somethin' else I need to talk with ya about."

"Uh oh," she breathed.

"Uh oh, indeed," he said, crushing the cigarette. Jimmy wasn't exactly sure how to bring it up without pushing her further into the open arms of the south Armagh crew.

They were a small tightknit brigade who hardly accepted newcomers. Those who joined were either legacy recruits or heavily vetted youngsters. Catherine felt honored she had been asked to join in the first place.

"The request you submitted to be part of the shipments in Dublin, I have to deny it."

Reaching for her glass, Catherine tossed back the rest of her whiskey. "Why? There's absolutely no bloody reason for you to do that."

"They have all the man-power they need down there. Dessie's been doin' it for a while now without ya, he'll survive. The Russian stock on top of what we're gonna be bringin' in from Jabalia, and potentially Slovakia, I need you here to help move it."

"Next month you'll be doublin' Dessie's stock, too. We were runnin' the numbers and he's gonna need help."

"And he will get help. Just not from you."

"Fuckin' bullshit," she mumbled under her breath.

"What was that?"

Catherine looked Jimmy in the eye, her expression turning cold. "I said it's fuckin' bullshit."

Jimmy leaned back in his chair, swallowing his fury. He wanted to reach across the table and grab her by the neck, a small reminder of her place. Who the fuck did she think she was talking to him like that? He was her superior officer - he had the final say and she was to respect his authority.

"You're spendin' too much time in Cross; it's fuckin' with your head and leavin' ya confused on how things are run in Belfast. I don't want you goin' down there anymore. I need ya up here with a clear mind, ready to work."

Catherine lit a cigarette and took a long drag. She blew out a steady stream of smoke, choosing her next words very carefully.

"I don't want anythin' to do with the guns anymore. SAMCROs got ATF all over 'em right now. Feds start diggin' into who their supplier is, it could be really bad for us."

"You worry too much," Jimmy mocked, pouring her more whiskey.

She raised her blonde eyebrows. "And you don't?"

_Exactly_, Catherine thought as he didn't answer.

As much as it pained Catherine to accept her fate, she realized she wasn't going to be getting away from the gun trade any time soon. She should have known better than to think Jimmy would so easily let her walk away.

"For as long as ATF is sniffin' around SAMCRO, we need to be smart and change our pattern," she said.

"What do you mean?"

"Change the days our shipments come in. Change the route and crew. For all we know, ATF's already flagged a possible connection and we've got MI5 up our arses, quietly watchin'."

Jimmy smiled mildly. He reached out and slid his fingers through the soft waves of her hair. She was always half a step behind him, always on the same page. They were a team. And she wants to throw away her life in Belfast for a man she thinks she loves.

"What are ya waitin' for, then?" Jimmy tossed back the rest of his whiskey and got up to take off his raincoat and suit jacket. "Get a map and let's figure out a new route to and from Dungloe. I'll see what I can do about bringin' the shipment in on a different day, and we'll alternate crews."

Catherine dropped the cigarette in the ashtray and shook her head. Her gut was telling her this was a bad idea. "Not tonight, it's late and I'm tired."

"I haven't seen Eamonn in nearly a month so if you do this for me, I'll take him and Sean to school in the morn' to let you sleep."

She knew exactly what he was alluding to. "You're not stayin' the night; not even on the couch. Dessie would have a shitfit if he knew ya were here right now."

Jimmy crossed his arms over his chest. He didn't appreciate Dessie coming in and pushing him out of Catherine's life. He's been there for her for nearly thirty years now. He deserved to have the clout on what goes on with her, not some lowlife who thought he held claim after several months.

"Then I won't stay the night, but my offer still stands. Please, Catherine."

It was stupid to give in. Yet, for some reason she did.

"Fine," she groaned. "Ya need to be here by seven because you're feedin' 'em, too."

"Deal." He held out his hand for her to shake. He loved the way hers fit in his.

Getting up, Catherine grabbed her maps and spread them out on the table before getting makers and pieces of scratch paper. Jimmy refilled their glasses. When she came back to the table, he wrapped an arm around her waist to pull her down into his lap.

She tried to get up so she could occupy her chair, but he just tightened his hold on her. She wasn't going anywhere.

They dove right in, pouring over the maps to find the best route from Belfast to Dungloe. As they negotiated the complicated weave of divided highways, the motorway, and back roads, Catherine felt like she could take a breath of ease. This was the most civil conversation they've had since she was demoted in October.

She didn't care why. She just hoped it would last.

While she was scratching out the name of a road in the hills of Donegal, Jimmy brought a freshly lit cigarette to her mouth so she could take a drag.

As she spoke, smoke wafted from her mouth. "I think we should take the R250 because it'll connec-"

"What the fuck is this?"

Catherine's heart fluttered. She dropped the black marker and looked up to find Dessie standing in the doorway with Eamonn's stuffed elephant clutched tightly in his hand.


	63. Fat Fuckin' Smile

**1997 - Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

Catherine was practically cornered in the toilets of the lively pub. The women were friendly or were at least pretending to be, and Catherine wasn't going to be rude and dismiss their attempt for conversation.

They had seen her at parties for the last three weekends now, and the way Dessie's eye always seemed to follow her.

Together they stood in front of the mirror. The four women fussed over their appearance. One of them offered Catherine her compact to powder her nose, another passed on her bottle of Chanel perfume.

The one who looked to be the oldest peered at Catherine in the mirror. She turned her attention back to her own reflection, fluffing her flattening curls. "There's nothin' easy about bein' with men like him."

A blonde standing beside Catherine nodded in agreement as she filled in her overdrawn lips with lipstick. "Once you're in, ya can't just change your mind or walk away. They need you more than you'll ever need them."

"But ya always have to be ready for the future," said the prettiest one in the group. She leaned against the sink and lit a cigarette. "Don't matter how many times things are rehearsed or how many times they go over plans. He could just be havin' an off-day. And when that off-day happens…"

A shrill voice came from the back, "Ya never know if you're livin' your final hour's wit' 'im. If the mission goes wrong...it's death or life in prison. Ya gotta let 'im know your head is as much in the game as his."

There was a collective "aye."

Before Catherine had the chance to meekly ask how she could do that, the blonde answered,

"Ya need to let him know how much ya love him. Look good and always posh. Don't be goin' to the bar alone, don't think about dancin' with another fella. And for the love of God, never ever find yourself near a bloke who's flirtin' with ya."

"Don't ever let him think there's another guy, either. You honor him. Always make him proud. Be appreciative of what he can give ya."

Catherine took careful notes of the instructions being handed down to her. Words of wisdom Olivia would never pass along. She had no idea there were so many rules to dating the men in their circle.

"But most importantly," the pretty one emphasized. "Never let him down."

* * *

**January 2009 - Belfast, Northern Ireland**

"Well," Dessie bellowed. "Are ya shaggin' him?"

_Don't ever let him think there's another guy_.

Catherine ran her hands through her hair. She wanted to pull it out and scream.

"No, I am not shaggin' him! Why would ya even think that?" she yelled back.

"She wishes," Jimmy mumbled, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Dessie's head snapped in Jimmy's direction, then to Catherine. He took the cigarette from behind his ear and clamped it between his teeth, walking toward the back door. "When I come back in, it would be in your best interest for him to be gone."

When the door closed behind Dessie, Catherine glared at Jimmy. She mocked his earlier statement, "Oh, I don't see Dessie around, do you?"

"I honestly didn't think he'd just show up like that."

"Ya should be thankin' him because he drove an hour to bring your son the stuffed animal he can't bloody sleep without."

Jimmy rolled his eyes. It would be a cold day in Hell before he thanked Dessie for anything. As he stubbed out the cigarette he stood up, then put on his suit jacket. "I'll be here-"

"No ya fuckin' won't. You've done enough, seriously. Go."

He bit his tongue. There was nothing else worth saying at this point. It left him feeling somewhat bitter to see how she treated him when there was another man in her life. As if the history they shared suddenly meant nothing to her.

And that was exactly the case. She was ready to move on from Jimmy, from Darragh. From Belfast. She was ready for a fresh start, free from the chains that had been shackling her for the last fifteen years.

When he had his raincoat on, Jimmy went in for a hug goodbye. When Catherine dodged it, his heart broke.

She wasn't going to allow Jimmy to get that close again. Trying to hold on to the scraps and faded memories of a past that had been mediocre at best wasn't worth it. Nothing would ever be worth seeing the hurt and fury on Dessie when he strolled into the kitchen.

_Honor him. _

She had gone against the only thing Dessie asked of her, foolishly thinking that when Jimmy said he wanted to talk business, it would be nothing but professional. There was nothing professional about how he pulled her onto his lap and kept a strong arm wrapped around her as if claiming his prize.

_For the love of God, never ever find yourself near a bloke who's flirtin' with ya._

She wanted to kick her own ass. She had fucked up with Darragh, and now she was fucking up with Dessie.

Without a word, Jimmy turned around to head out the front door. When she heard it clicked shut behind him, she buried her face in her hands. Catherine choked back tears. They weren't tears over the shame she felt for the situation, but oddly enough, they were of grief. As she watched Jimmy walk away, she knew it was over. Saying goodbye to such a large part of her life wasn't easy. She wouldn't miss him, but she did miss the man he once was.

Dessie came in from the cold, rubbing his hands together to warm them up. He groaned and threw his arms up when he saw the bottle of Powers sitting on the table beside the unfinished glasses of whiskey.

"Jesus, Catherine. Ya even let him drink my whiskey? Ya never let a man drink another man's whiskey!"

Catherine stayed silent as she watched Dessie's every move. He grabbed the bottle by the neck, moving to the sink where he poured the rest of the light amber liquor down the drain. It was a tainted bottle; he couldn't drink it now. After throwing it away, he strolled out of the kitchen towards the door.

And there is was. Like every other goddamn man in her life, he was walking out instead of talking to her. If he wasn't going to bother talking about the obvious problem, she wasn't going to try and find a solution. She'd already been through one relationship which practically crumbled from the lack of communication, she wouldn't do it again.

Marching out of the kitchen and through the living room, Catherine headed straight for the stairs. She had such tunnel vision, she missed Dessie hanging up his jacket.

"Where the fuck do ya think you're goin'?" he quietly hissed. He didn't want to wake the boys.

Halfway up the stairs, Catherine turned around. "I should be askin' you the same. I actually wanna talk about this, but you just wanna run off."

Utterly confused, Dessie pointed to his feet. "I'm takin' off my goddamn shoes! Not sure how much talkin' you'll be doin', but you'll sure as shite be doin' a lot of listenin'. Get your arse in the kitchen; I'll be there to deal with ya in a minute."

That's fair.

With the obedience that was expected of her, Catherine headed back into the kitchen where she cleaned up the maps and made them tea.

Dessie needed a minute more to collect himself. He was still fuming, to say the least. The last thing he wanted to do was blow up on her, even if it was well deserved. When he saw Catherine sitting on Jimmy's lap, it had taken every ounce of self-control Dessie had not to drop Jimmy with a one-two punch, then drive his butterfly knife through his neck.

Everyone has their vices. Dessie had three: booze, cigarettes, and women. Though he's managed to curb the latter for only one woman. Catherine's? It has always been Jimmy O'Phelan, and Dessie was about to break her of that addiction.

In the kitchen, he found her sitting at the table. Her hands were wrapped around a steaming mug of tea, and another mug sat in front of the empty chair at the head. Catherine didn't look up at Dessie as he sat, focusing her attention only on the floral design of her mug.

He took a sip of the tea she sweetened with milk and sugar, then lit a cigarette. "I'm givin' ya one last chance to be honest with me here. Have you been shaggin' him?"

Finally gazing up to him, Catherine shook her head. As she blinked, tears slipped from her eyes.

"When was the last time ya did?"

"The night he was released from Maghaberry," she croaked, wiping her eyes dry. "Which I already told ya about."

They hadn't been together when that happened, though it didn't feel anything less than a dagger to the chest for Dessie. He ignored his insecurity and own past mistakes, which were screaming at him to dismiss what she was saying. Once upon a time, he'd been right where she is, and with a straight face, lied through his teeth to his wife that he hadn't just been inside some nameless, faceless woman.

Just like him, Catherine had experience in holding up against the most grueling forms of questioning. So Dessie had to trust she wasn't treating this as just another interrogation and she was telling him the truth.

"Why was he here?"

It was the third time he's asked that question but used different wording than the other two. Catherine was smart enough to understand he was using debriefing tactics on her. She couldn't blame him, and she answered as if she were in a debriefing. She recounted every move she made, every move Jimmy made, as well as everything that was said.

Catherine hated the fact that it felt like she was talking to her commanding officer. Not working out an issue with her boyfriend.

He listened, finishing his tea. "You're gonna ask Fi for your key back, yeah? Your parents have a copy, so does Brien, and I have one, too. No one else needs to be gettin' in here. I swear to fuckin' God, Catherine, he is never allowed to step inside this place. If he wants to see Eamonn, you bring him to Jimmy. If he comes here, the only thing you're to do is call me and I will deal with it. If I don't answer, call your Da and then one of my guys so they can try to get in touch with me."

She agreed, but there was one issue. Jimmy was their superior officer, and for as long as she was still in the Belfast Brigade, she'd have no other choice than to see and speak to him on the regular. Refusing communication could end with her being court-martialed and that wasn't a risk either was willing to take.

"You're not an officer anymore," he said. Catherine didn't appreciate the reminder. "So ya shouldn't be involved in any of the decision makin' to begin with, but if he needs to talk to ya about anythin', it happens at a meetin' house."

_But most importantly, never let him down. _

"Aye. I promise it'll never happen again. I swear to you, it won't."

Dessie nodded and said nothing for a moment.

"Darragh told me what happened between you and Jimmy when youse were drivin' to Newry to pick up the kit from me for the IPLA operation. There's one thing ya need to understand; I am not Darragh. You let any fella slip his fingers in your fanny, I'll pack your bags myself."

Given his track record, Dessie didn't care he sounded hypocritical. She was none the wiser and that's all he cared about.

Catherine caught a chill which had nothing to do with the frigid temperature outside. Her hands prickled with numbness, making it difficult to strike the lighter for the cigarette she reached for. When she finally got it lit, she took a long drag. Never in her life has she felt so humiliated or betrayed. Darragh had promised he didn't tell a soul. If Dessie knew, who else did?

"I bust my ass at the garage nearly fifty-hours a week, on top of runnin' the brigade, Catherine. I don't have the fuckin' time or the energy to fight with ya about Jimmy, so this is the first and only time we'll be havin' this conversation. I love you and I wanna have a life with ya, but if you'd rather be with Jimmy, let me know now so we don't waste each other's time."

_Ya need to let him know how much ya love him_.

Catherine placed her still burning cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. She settled onto his lap, pushing his hair away from his face as she pressed her forehead to his. Her hands wandered, fingers tangling in the chain he wore around his neck.

She could barely force the words out over the knot in her throat. "I don't want Jimmy, or anyone else." Her voice broke, just as the tears broke free from her eyes. "You're the one I wanna spend my life with, Dessie. I love you so much. You're my best friend. I don't know what I'd do without you. I promise I'll never hurt you like I did Darragh; ya have to believe me. Please, please, believe me."

He did believe her. It was hard for him to imagine the one woman he deemed to be so perfect was capable of such sin.

Dessie could feel his jaw tremble as Catherine spoke. His eyes stung and blurred with tears. Wrapping her tightly in his arms, Dessie buried his face into the crook of her neck. Catherine curled her arms around him, holding on as if her life depended on it. The grip he had on her grew tauter as she felt the warmth of his tears drip onto her neck.

Sitting there, just holding each other, was a form of true intimacy neither had ever experienced. It was comforting and scary at the same time. They've only ever been able to bare their souls to each other. They weren't afraid to be vulnerable, knowing full well the other would be within arm's reach when they fell.

When they unwrapped from one another, Dessie immediately grabbed Catherine's face in his hands, and she did the same to him. They wiped away each other's tears, before embracing in a much-needed kiss.

Once they pulled apart, Catherine glanced at the stove for the time. "It's after ten. Ya should probably be headed back to Cross."

Dessie shook his head. "All I wanna do is go upstairs, have sex with ya, then fall sleep with you in my arms and a big fat fuckin' smile on my face."


	64. Jug-a-saurus Rex

**St. Patrick's Day - Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

To say the celebration was in full swing was an understatement. The pub was packed to capacity, making it standing room only as the entire town gathered to celebrate the Saint's day.

Connor came back to the table, setting down a tray of pints. As he doled out glasses of Guinness and Harp, Catherine casually turned one down.

"I'm not drinkin' tonight," she said, removing the black straw she'd been chewing on.

Connor furrowed his brow, looking around to everyone who was dressed head to toe in green, and three-sheets to the wind.

"Uh, Catherine? Ya may not be aware of this, but it's St. Paddy's Day. Everyone drinks tonight."

"I know," she defended herself. "I'm just gonna have a Coke instead."

In his drunken state, Connor possessed no filter between his brain and mouth. He spoke loud enough to be heard over the band so everyone within earshot heard him.

"Jaysus. You're pregnant."

Catherine swallowed hard, her throat tightening as the words expanded in her mouth. She wasn't sure how to respond to Connor. There was too much excitement to lie, but she was disappointed she hadn't had the chance to tell Dessie privately. Weeks prior she had found out, though the timing never seemed right.

Overhearing his quartermaster, Dessie turned around. His stare was as hard as Connor's. Catherine locked eyes with his intoxicated ones, no longer being able to hide the wide smile.

That was all Dessie needed for her to confirm the news.

He gathered Catherine's face in his hands, reality settling into his beer and whiskey-soaked brain.

"Please tell me you're not takin' the piss."

Catherine shook her head as she grabbed his wrists. Relief washed over her to see Dessie lambasted. "I was gonna tell ya but-"

She was cut off by the kiss Dessie planted to her lips. She could taste the tobacco and Guinness she was craving on his tongue. They pulled apart when Connor's shrill whistle caught everyone's attention. Dessie threw his arm along Catherine's shoulders, unable to drop the smile from his face. He was on cloud nine, as was Catherine, for she was thankful she no longer had to hold in her secret.

Standing on one of the high-chairs—steadied by Jack and Aidan—Connor managed to quiet both the band and the crowd.

"No more beer for Catherine; doubles for Dessie! He's gonna be a father!"

As if they needed another reason to celebrate, the pub broke out into a wave of cheers and whistles. Dessie was swimming as he tried to take it all in. Running his hands through his hair, his cheeks started to hurt from smiling so much. Fat tears of pure happiness welled in the corners of his eyes. Catherine had never seen him so elated.

After a rough February, with the Kings making Dessie's life near miserable and thus stalling their plans to go ahead with the Northern Bank job, this was exactly the news Catherine knew he needed. Not to mention Jimmy had her running around so much, it had been nearly impossible for her to spend more than one night at a time with Dessie.

Kieran managed to snag a bottle of Bushmills from behind the bar, bringing it over to the table. He poured shots into clear plastic cups. As the boys pulled Dessie over, Catherine stepped back gracefully accepting hugs of congratulations and warm wishes of a fruitful future from their wives and girlfriends.

As he downed his second shot, he caught her eye. Everyone knew Dessie loved Catherine, well before he had told anyone he even liked her. From the moment they met, there was a sparkle in his eye every time she spoke. In Catherine, he saw the next fifty years.

She loved him well before she even knew it herself. Falling for him didn't feel like falling at all. It was walking into his flat one night and suddenly realizing she was home. When she looked at him, it was as if he was the sun and she was a child seeing light for the very first time. Even before Catherine had been with Darragh, Dessie was always the first person she looked for in a crowd.

Setting his glass down on the table, Dessie pushed his way through the tight crowd until he reached her. He didn't care she was in the middle of a conversation with someone, he raked his fingers through her hair as his lips crashed down on hers.

"When did ya find out?" His husky south Armagh burr didn't sound intimidating when he was drunk.

She hoped he'd remember all of this in the morning.

At first, Catherine hesitated afraid to tell him exactly how long she's been sitting on such life-changing news. "Just before Valentine's Day. I'm due sometime around October 10th, the doc said."

"I fuckin' knew somethin' was up!" Dessie roared. "You've been so moody and I knew I wasn't losin' me'mind when I thought I heard ya hurlin' the other day."

Kieran walked up beside Dessie, throwing an arm around his oldest friend's neck. "I'm no doc, but I could'a told ya she's up the pole. Look at her, she's a bleedin' jug-a-saurus rex."

Catherine self-consciously crossed her arms over her bust, not sure how to feel about the fact her growing breasts have been noticed by Kieran. Dessie slapped him across the back of the head.

Connor and Jack joined them, handing another shot to Dessie and Kieran. She had a feeling she wouldn't be the only one with her face in the toilet later in the night.

"Kieran starin' at your girl's titties'll be the least of your concerns," Connor snickered. "Especially once Paddy finds out what ya've done to his wee daughter. You may be makin' a run for the border by the end of the week."

Dessie swallowed hard. He forgot about Patrick.

Jack placed a hand on his chest. "I'm just impressed ya managed a chub at all. I hear it's all down-hill after forty."

Before Dessie had the chance to punch Jack, Catherine held up three fingers. "He went three rounds last night, Murphy. I have a feelin' that's three more than you had."

Jack's cheeks instantly turned red, and he ducked out of the conversation not wanting to face anymore embarrassment of his failing sex life.

"Three times? Christ, Dess," Kieran said into his glass of Harp. "I haven't been able to do that in years."

Dessie was slightly flattered. "I was ready to go for a fourth, but _someone _got tired."

"That's because you had _someone _sit on your face for like half-an-hour. Multiple orgasms are a blessin' and a curse," Catherine admitted.

Connor and Kieran choked on their beer.

"Half-an-hour," Connor said, coughing. "Don't ya be goin' off and sayin' anythin' to Deirdre, Catherine. Gonna make the rest of us look bad."

"Does Deirdre do a grand job raisin' the wee shites?" asked Dessie. Connor nodded. "Does she do your laundry, keep the house clean, and make sure you come home to a hot meal after work?" Again, Connor nodded. "Don't be a selfish prick and give your woman the multiple orgasms she goddamn deserves."

Digesting Dessie's words of advice, Connor set his glass on the table and eyed the crowd for his wife. When he spotted her, he took off in her direction.

"Never thought I'd see the day where Dessie Dennehy is givin' out relationship advice," Kieran jabbed.

Curling an arm around Catherine's waist, Dessie rested his hand on her slightly bloated belly. He never thought he'd see the day where he had a family again.

* * *

**Belfast - Northern Ireland **

Dessie sat in his car after Catherine's appointment at the Royal Victoria. In one hand he held the sonogram, while he wiped away his tears with the other.

In the two weeks since he found out she was pregnant, it never felt real until the moment he heard their baby's heartbeat. To some extent, he was still having a hard time believing this was happening. He'd done nothing to make amends for his past, yet here he was, being offered a second chance at happiness on a silver platter.

Dessie was smart enough to understand he couldn't fuck up. This time around he wouldn't miss a single doctor's appointment, he'd help Catherine with feedings and with Eamonn and Sean. He'd be there holding her hand when she was in labor. But wanting to do those things, and doing them were two different stories. He was seventeen when his eldest daughter was born, and he'd been at home sleeping off a nasty hangover as his ex-wife gave birth. Then the same thing happened two years later. Dessie reminded himself he was no longer a teenager and wouldn't make that mistake a third time.

Not with Catherine. Never with Catherine.

Even then, he was scared shitless of finding a way to ruin it all. Because somehow he always found a way to.

Deciding it was time to stop feeling sorry for himself and man-up, Dessie tucked the small sonogram onto the back pocket of his jeans and got out of the car. There were three stops he needed to make before heading back to Crossmaglen.

Wanting to get the most difficult one out of the way first, Dessie walked a short distance up the Falls Road. He pushed open the front gate in front of a house that looked identical to all the other red brick ones lining the street. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the front door. Thankfully, it didn't take long before Patrick opened the door.

Seeing Dessie standing on the other side alone, looking as though he was there with his tail between his legs, Patrick instantly knew what it was about. He wasn't going to show Dessie he had an idea, Patrick wanted to hear it from him first-hand. Not a single word was spoken as Patrick moved out of the way to let him in. They went straight into the kitchen, where Patrick sat at the head of the kitchen table. He was back on the wagon, much to Dessie's relief, so there wasn't the risk of a drunken argument. But still, it wouldn't be pretty.

Once Dessie sat down, he pulled out his pack of cigarettes and lit one. There was no point in dragging this out any longer.

"Catherine's pregnant. She's due in early October."

Patrick leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms over his chest. It terrified Dessie that Patrick was taking so long to respond. That was because Patrick killed both Catherine and Dessie about thrice over in his head. When they first started dating, Patrick warned Catherine to be smart about it. He didn't want to see her make the mistake she did with Jimmy and Darragh. Though he had to admire Dessie; Darragh hadn't come to see him when Catherine got pregnant with Sean.

Reaching across the table for Dessie's cigarettes, Patrick lit one, too. "Ya gonna treat her the same ya treated Eilish? Gonna shag around; leave her at home with the two boys and a newborn for weeks at a time?"

Dessie meekly shook his head. He knew he deserved to have those things asked of him. "Eilish and I never should've gotten married and I know that's not an excuse for the hell I put her through. I can't promise ya I'll be some super Da, or that Catherine and I won't have our share of problems. What I can promise you is that I'll be there for her, the baby, the boys, as much as I can be. It's different with Catherine. I actually love her. I've been in love with her since the first day I met her, and I would never do anythin' to intentionally hurt her."

"Now ya just sound like a pussy," chuckled Patrick. Dessie didn't care. "My wee Catherine has been through been hell, long before you came sniffin' around, and I don't wanna see her go through what she did with Jimmy and Darragh again. If youse are gonna have a baby, then you're gonna do right by her, ya hear me?"

Dessie clamped the cigarette between his teeth, then dug into the front pocket of his jeans. He opened a black velvet ring box and placed it on the table halfway between him and Patrick.

"I bought it a month ago. Well before I found out she's pregnant if that means anythin'." Patrick reached out to pick up the box. He examined the beautiful ring nestled inside; a white gold setting with a sizable solitaire diamond in the center. It looked to have set Dessie back a few bills. "I'm here to do the right thing, Paddy, and ask ya for your blessin' to marry Catherine. Your daughter means the world to me. I wanna spend the rest of me'life with her."

Closing the box, Patrick slid it back over to Dessie. He crushed his cigarette out and thought for a moment.

"This is the only time you'll ever hear me say this, and I swear I'll knock your teeth out if I find out you told Catherine what I said. Darragh—God rest his soul—was a good man, but he wasn't right for Catherine. After the funeral, you were the first one to show up here to check in on her. You sat right on my couch with wee Sean in your arms and fed him his bottle while Catherine was upstairs tryin' to get Eamonn down for a nap. Don't think I didn't notice all the times you stepped up to help her; more than Eamonn's useless father. When I see the four of youse together, I see my daughter loves you just as much as you love her. You're a hardworkin' man who'll provide for her, I trust ya won't beat her, and for some reason, the boys seem fond of ya, too. So, if you wanna marry that stubborn, smartass, hooligan, you'll be welcomed into our family with open arms."

Dessie didn't know what to say. He hadn't expected to get such a response out of Patrick. The man wasn't known for being warm and friendly. It did shock him to hear that Patrick knew of all the times he came up to Belfast to help Catherine with little things around the house. When she moved from Andersontown back to the Falls, he had stayed up all night with her just packing, talking about everything and anything. He had even set up in the bunk beds in the boy's bedroom and helped her paint the kitchen. Never once did he feel obligated to do any of it, he just wanted to.

"I appreciate that. I promise I won't tell Catherine a word."

Patrick held out his hand for Dessie to shake. "Ya do her wrong, it's me and Brien who you'll be answerin' to. And I swear to God, if you go off and get yourself killed, I'll bring ya back just so I can kill ya myself."

There's the Patrick he remembered. After shaking Patrick's hand, Dessie stuffed the ring box back into his pocket. Now he just had to figure out the right time to pop the question to Catherine.

"That's fair," he said.

"Ya plan on tellin' Jimmy, or is he just gonna find out through the grapevine?" Patrick pried.

Dessie ran a hand through his hair. "He's my next stop once I leave here. I have a feelin' he won't like what I have to say, so I've arranged for a couple'a lads from Jonesborough to rotate keepin' an eye on her place until she can get down to Cross on Friday."

"I'll swing by there, too." Patrick got up and opened the cabinet above the stove. He grabbed a container used to store rice, taking off the lid. Dessie watched carefully as Patrick dug inside, pulling out a compact Smith and Wesson pistol. After checking to make sure the magazine was loaded, Patrick handed it over. "With Jimmy, ya never know."


	65. For a Good Time, Call

"I had a feelin' you'd be here."

Dessie slipped his hands into the pockets of his jacket and smiled when he saw Catherine leaning against his car. He just finished visiting Darragh at Milltown so seeing her did wonders for the sorrow filling his heart.

Once he crossed the Falls Road, the first thing Dessie did was gather her in his arms. She hugged him back with the same tightness, knowing the emptiness he was feeling walking out of the cemetery all too well.

"Were you plannin' on visitin', too?"

With her head resting in the crook of his neck, Dessie could feel her nod. While he was at the point where the visits were becoming easier and easier, they weren't ready to walk through those gates together just yet. The idea of a joint visit still seemed a bit disrespectful.

"I was gonna tell him, but I can see ya beat me to it."

Dessie ran his fingers through her hair. "Figured it should come from me first. Man-to-man, ya know?"

"I get it," she chuckled. "My Da called me a wee bit ago and said ya visited him, too. You didn't have to do that, I would've told him."

"Me and your da - we have a complicated relationship. It's better that I told him."

Catherine lifted her head and snuck her hands through his open jacket, setting them on his sides. "Why's that?"

Dessie looked straight into her deep blue eyes, unable to bring himself to tell her the reason. If he divulged any more information about his first marriage, it would only open the door to more questions he didn't want her to know the answers to. Not because he was ashamed, but because he was afraid she wouldn't accept just how messy his past was.

He kissed her nose. "Nothin' ya need to be worryin' about. All I need you focused on is keepin' your stress down. For the next six-and-a-half-months, let me take care of everythin'."

"I'm pregnant, Dessie. Not an invalid."

"I know that, but ya really need to take what the doc said seriously. You're not as young as you were when you had Eamonn and Sean, so the stress you're under is startin' to take its tolls on your body. Your job right now is to stay healthy so our baby stays healthy."

Catherine hated to admit he was right. She couldn't be running herself ragged or stressing over things that were out of her control. Unfortunately, it was easier said than done.

Breaking her gaze from Dessie's, she looked over his shoulder to the looming gates of Milltown.

"I don't think we'd still be together," she started. "We wanted such different things outta life."

Hearing her say that so brazenly took Dessie by surprise, but he wasn't shocked at all by her realization. Many times Darragh fled Belfast to crash at his flat after a fight with Catherine. On several occasions when too much alcohol was consumed, Darragh would admit he didn't see his relationship with her going anywhere. They were wildly in love but never saw eye-to-eye. When things were good, they were amazing. When they were bad, life was miserable.

As Darragh would sulk, telling Dessie he felt trapped with Catherine because she was pregnant with Sean, it gutted Dessie to think he didn't appreciate her.

He liked to remind Darragh he and Catherine had two very different life experiences which shaped the way they each viewed life.

"That's because his mind never left Maghaberry. Some lads just never get over the shite that happened there."

"You got over it."

That's debatable, Dessie thought.

"I accepted my fate the moment I was arrested," he admitted. "They gave me five life-sentences for what I did. I was supposed to die in that place. Every day I'm outside of those of walls is a miracle and I'll never allow me'self to forget that. Darragh lost years of his life for somethin' he didn't even do. I was guilty as sin and I only lost eighteen months before they released me. He had a right to be bitter."

Ever since she fell head-over-heels for Dessie, Catherine now lived in a constant state of fear. Him being released under the Good Friday Agreement didn't mean those life sentences no longer loomed over his head. The way Catherine saw it, the real miracle was that he's gone nearly a decade without having his license revoked - no longer being in support of, or an active member of a paramilitary organization was the first condition of early release. The PSNI and MI5 suspected he went right back to his old ways, this time they just couldn't prove it.

She hated to even think about the possibility of him being sent back to Maghaberry to serve out his time.

"Darragh was bitter because of Jimmy, too. He blamed himself for me bein' with Jimmy because he was gone when I first…" she trailed off. "I tried to run from Ireland with the boys just to get away from Darragh. But I never thought to do that with Jimmy. The fuck does that say about me?"

Dessie heard the thickness in her voice and saw the bubbles of tears in the corners of her eyes. He placed his finger under her chin, nudging it up so she'd look at him. She fought his gaze for a quick moment, then gave in.

"When you aren't spoon-fed love and affection, ya quickly learn to lick it off a knife. I'm not tryin' to shite on Darragh here, but after Eamonn was born, he was only there for you when it was convenient for him, while Jimmy's always been up your arse. Ya took what you could get. It's not his fault and it's not your fault."

"You blame me or hate me over my past with Jimmy?"

"Never. My past isn't pretty either - all I care about is the future. Even if it's God's will that I live out the rest of my days in Maghaberry, I promise you'll never have to lick that blade again for as long as I'm alive."

Catherine slapped his chest. "Don't fuckin' say shite like that."

Dessie felt like an ass for saying it, but the possibility couldn't be ignored. Obviously, he wasn't the only one thinking about it. By the way her mood completely shifted, Dessie sensed he needed damage control, and while this wasn't how he expected it to happen, it was a moment as good as any.

"Ya wanna know what I went to talk with your da about?" he asked.

Catherine slowly nodded. After scrubbing his hands over his face, Dessie reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled the ring box out. He knew he didn't need to get down on one knee or have some elaborate speech ready where he rambled on about how much he loves and cherishes her. Catherine already knew how much he did, and the chances of her remembering any of what he said once the box was open were slim.

Besides, this way was more them. Spur-of-the-moment, relaxed, no pressure. Just how their relationship blossomed.

When Dessie lifted the lid, Catherine instantly covered her mouth with her hands. It was the most beautiful ring she ever laid eyes on. Everything that's happened in life suddenly seemed worth it, because it all led up to this very moment.

"Catherine Mary, you're my best friend, and I love ya more than you'll ever know. Will you marry me?"

"Yes! A thousand times yes! Of course, I will!"

Before he could even get the ring out of the box, Catherine wrapped her arms snugly around his neck. She kissed him over and over, experiencing for the first time what genuine happiness and love felt like.

Finally letting go of him, Catherine held out her left hand as Dessie slid the ring on her finger.

"Not to be a dick, but I had it sized before you got pregnant so hopefully it fits."

Catherine didn't take offense. She was far more bloated this early on than she ever was with Eamonn or Sean. It was snug, but thankfully he managed to get it on.

With the ring finally on Catherine's finger and no longer burning a hole in Dessie's pocket, he was more ready than ever to break the news to Jimmy.

* * *

Dessie was three beers deep and halfway through the Celtic's match when his phone rang on the cushion beside him. When he saw _Cate _sprawled across the screen, a small smile spread. Picking it up, he flipped it open.

"Hey, baby, what's up?" he asked.

Catherine softly sighed. "Just crawlin' into bed. I'm absolutely exhausted, which is to be expected." The line went quiet for a second, making him think the call dropped. "I really miss you…_we _miss you."

Dessie dropped his head and bit his bottom lip. Hearing her say that made it felt like the wind was knocked out of him. Just three months more, he reminded himself. Three months until they moved into their house and their life together could begin.

"I miss youse, too. How've you been feelin'?"

"I had a hard time eatin' today because the smell of everythin' just makes me sick. And the nurse who took my blood today blew my vein so I have a wee bruise."

"Keep ice on it," he reminded her before finishing the last mouthful of beer in the can. "Did the boys give ya any trouble tonight?"

"Thankfully no. Brien took 'em to the park after school to play some rugby while I ran out to pick up our marriage applications, so they were more exhausted than I am."

Less than eight hours since he proposed and she already got the paperwork. She wasn't wasting a single second as they both wanted to be married well before the baby was born.

"Already got the applications, huh? I think you're just a wee bit excited."

"Hell yeah I am," she laughed. "It's such shite we have to wait twenty-eight bloody days after we get the paperwork in. I'd become Catherine Dennehy tomorrow if I damn well could."

Catherine Dennehy—goddamn did that have a nice ring to it, Dessie thought.

While he was happy she was excited to become his wife, Dessie didn't want it stressing her out. There was already enough on her plate. "Patience, my love. It'll happen before ya know it."

Catherine wanted to ask how his conversation with Jimmy had gone earlier, but she decided against it. He assured her he'd take care of any issues, and nor did she want to ruin the mood when she had something fun in mind. She took a deep breath, finding her confidence. After five months of long-distance dating, she was ready to kick it up a notch.

"I'm wearin' those satin knickers you really like."

"Oh?" he said, his curiosity heightened. "The white ones with the wee black polka dots?"

"Aye."

Dessie set the empty beer can on the table and sat up a little straighter. He had an idea where this was going.

"What else are ya wearin'?"

"Absolutely nothin'," she purred. Her words were slow and drawn out.

At the thought of Catherine sprawled out on her bed in nothing but the panties that drove him mad, all of the blood drained from Dessie's head and rushed below his waist.

She spoke again, "I'm gently tracin' my fingers along my inner-thigh just like how you do it, and I can feel myself gettin' wet."

"Fuckin' hell," he breathed. "You're killin' me here."

"I want you to pin me down, and hold my wrists to the bed as you spread my legs with yours. I want you to completely overpower me; no matter how much I struggle against you, there's nothin' that can stop ya from slidin' deep inside me."

Overwhelmed, he reached for the television remote and muted the volume. He wanted his attention on Catherine and only Catherine. The Celtic's would have to wait.

"Slide your fingers inside yourself, baby. Tell me how wet you are."

"I'm fuckin' soaked, just for you. I'm startin' slow on my clit; those small circles you love teasin' me with." Dessie's head nearly exploded when he heard delicate whimpers start to spill from her mouth. "Fuck…that feels so good, Dessie."

He couldn't take it anymore, nor could he let her have all the fun. Holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder, Dessie managed to undo his belt, and shove down his jeans and boxers in record time. He could feel the small beads of sweat forming along his forehead, the back of his neck.

Spitting into his palm he wasted no time getting to work, gliding his hand up and down the length of his steel shaft.

"I'm not keepin' ya on your back for long," he said, his usually husky voice was strangled with lust. "I'll flip ya over, then prop you up on your knees so your back is against my chest. I'll kiss you as I ease my cock into your cunt nice and slow."

Catherine moaned. "God, I love how much ya fill me up. As you're poundin' into me, I'll hook my arms around your neck and tug on your hair. Then I'll scream your name when you reach around and start rubbin' my clit at the same time."

"Ya like when I do that?"

"I do. It drives me fuckin' mad. I love it, even more, when you take my hand and make me feel your cock slidin' in and out of me." It was only when he grunted did Catherine realize what he was up to. "Are you close, Dessie? I want you to cum for me, baby."

"So fuckin' close…not until I hear you first."

Listening to Catherine getting herself off made it difficult for Dessie to hold back his release. Once he heard the sweet sympathy of her cries of ecstasy, it was all over for him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he stroked one last time. The stars floating behind his eyelids exploded like supernovas and a bolt of lightning shot down his spine. His voice was nowhere to be found as his breaths came out in short, sharp huffs. When it was over, Dessie uncurled his fingers from around his sensitive cock, surveying the gooey mess left behind.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." He caught his breath. "Nice work, O'Toole. You've made me spunk all over me'self."

"Not my fault at all," she giggled. "I never told ya to have a wank."

"Don't ya be tryin' to play coy, you devilish minx. Ya knew exactly what you were doin' when ya picked up the phone."

"Fine then. I just won't call ya to that again."

"Hey now. I wouldn't get that hasty. I will gladly be a willin' participant over the phone the next time you're feelin' randy and I am unable to personal service ya."

"Dear Lord."

Tossing the phone down for a second, he pulled off his t-shirt. He used it to wipe himself off then tossed it aside, pulling his jeans back up.

"Did ya take the meds the doc gave ya?" Dessie reminded her.

He knew just how scatter-brained she was as of late, and it frustrated him he couldn't be there to help Catherine stay on top of everything. Both Dessie and the doctor had been less than enthused about the results of her latest blood test, which now meant she was on a new vitamin regimen. Not to mention, the stress she was under from daily life was teetering her blood pressure, so she was being monitored for preeclampsia. The last thing Dessie wanted to see was her become a high-risk pregnancy over Jimmy and the IRA.

"Not yet," she stopped to yawn, "I'll do it right now."

He heard her rustling around as she got dressed, then the squeak of her bedroom door opening.

"So, I was lookin' and I saw the Rangers'll be home this weekend. Figured we'd take the boys to see 'em play."

"Wow!" Dessie hollered, lighting a cigarette. "Hell has officially frozen over if you're proposin' we go to a fixture that isn't rugby."

"Oh, don't worry, once I'm livin' in Cross I'll still drag your arse up to Belfast to watch the Ulster lads play."

"Ya just like watchin' those fellas run around in the wee shorts. Maybe hopin' somethin'll pop out."

"Aye," Catherine sighed. "Guilty as charged. It's no different than you and the lads crowdin' around the telly to watch ladies volleyball."

"I just don't understand the point of wearin' shorts that tight. In my professional opinion, they should just be playin' in their knickers for even better mobility."

"Well, it's my professional opinion-" she stopped midsentence, her tone unchanged. "Hey Ma, I'll have to call ya back, I've company."

Those were the words Dessie hoped he wouldn't have to hear Catherine mutter. He dropped his half-smoked cigarette into the empty beer can and got up to find a fresh shirt. "I'm on my way; I'll be there as soon as I can."

* * *

Catherine snapped her phone shut and gently set it on the counter as she crossed the threshold into the kitchen. She didn't have the slightest idea how Jimmy managed his way into her house, considering she had taken back her key from Fiona over two months ago. On top of Dessie making it every clear to Jimmy, he isn't to come within a three-block radius of the house.

He was sitting at the table, a neglected cigarette pinched between his index and middle fingers. He held a thousand-yard stare, fixated on the photo stuck to the fridge with a magnet. It was of Dessie and Catherine - Eamonn in his arms and Sean in hers. It had been taken on Christmas morning so the four of them were in their matching pajamas. Jimmy fucking hated how happy they seemed together. The smiles were genuine, there was a sparkle in the four pairs of eyes.

In his jaded mind, Jimmy felt sorry for Catherine. Dessie wasn't a real man, because to him, no real man would ever wear let his woman push him into wearing those tacky matching pajamas.

"You need to leave," she said, picking up the prescription bottle of folic acid off the window sill above the sink. She kept him in the corner of her eye as she shook a tablet into her hand and filled a glass with water.

"You weren't gonna tell me yourself?" His words were slightly slurring. He was drunk. Wonderful. "Thirty-fuckin'-years I've been by your side and you didn't have the decent common courtesy to tell me you've a goddamn baby on the way."

Catherine sat across from him. "I didn't even wanna tell ya. If it were up to me, I'd already be livin' in Cross without so much as a bloody goodbye. It was Dessie who wanted you to know, and it's Dessie who doesn't think it's a good idea to pull the boys outta St. Matthew's when they only have a few months left."

"You're a real piece of work, ya know that?"

She didn't say a word. She had to keep her cool and not upset him until Dessie got there to handle it. Maybe this would be the wake-up Dessie needed to realize her staying in Belfast would do more harm than good. The boys were resilient, they'd adjust to a new school in no time.

Jimmy tossed the cigarette into the ashtray and reached out to grab Catherine's left hand. He raised his eyebrows as he examined the ample round diamond sitting on her ring finger.

"When did this happen?"

"Earlier today."

She tried to pull her hand back, but Jimmy kept in it in his strong grip, moving it side-to-side so he could see how it sparkled in the light. Even he had to admit it was a gorgeous piece of jewelry that suited her. Now he knew what Dessie had spent this month's cut of the cigarette profits on. It was undoubtedly expensive, yet he still wasn't impressed.

"If you marry me instead of that low-life, I'll get you a bigger diamond."

Catherine didn't give a shit about the size of the diamond Dessie gave her. She'd marry him with a piece of string tied around her finger.

Locking eyes with Jimmy, Catherine spoke honestly. "I wouldn't marry you even if doin' so would bring independence to the six counties." He dropped her hand with a huff and picked up another cigarette. "Dessie isn't a low life, either, so stop talkin' shite about him. He's a good man; more of a man than you'll ever be."

After lighting his cigarette, Jimmy tossed his lighter on the table. "Ya think he's a good man. He ever tell ya why his first marriage fell apart? Or anythin' about the two kids he abandoned?"

"He said it just didn't work - his ex-wife couldn't handle him bein' in prison. And he didn't abandon 'em; she took off for Scotland after the divorce was finalized. He was in Maghaberry, there was nothin' he could do."

"He's lyin' to ya. It fell apart because he's a dog, Catherine. The man fucked nearly the entire female population of Northern Ireland, and probably half that of the Republic while he was married. Ya sure he's not doin' the same to you?"

"You're the fuckin' liar," she scoffed. "Dessie would never do that."

Jimmy's smirk was mocking and sarcastic. "Don't believe me? Ask him yourself. Has he ever told ya when his daughter, wee Rosie, was born?"

"No," she whispered. Catherine felt like she was going to be sick, and it had nothing to do with her raging hormones.

"Let's see here," Jimmy blew out a stream of smoke. "I joined the Ra in '83 after I got outta the Army, and it was also the same year Dessie joined. Eilish popped only a few months later, so '84, I would guess."

Jimmy watched as all the color drained from Catherine's face while she did the math in her head. Maybe the marriage wouldn't be happening after all.

Oh, well.

"She's - she's...Jesus-fuckin'-Christ."

Catherine's entire world came crumbling down around her. Now she understood why Dessie never talked much about his past. She always thought it had been because he never wanted to relive it. Turns out, he kept it under lock and key because he didn't want her ever finding out that very damning piece of information. She felt like she couldn't breathe. Every breath lodged in her tightening throat.

"Kinda weird, isn't it?" Wantin' to be with someone who's only five years older than your daughter? And the way he would speak of ya when you were only eighteen was downright awful."

Even drunk, Jimmy knew exactly what he was doing.


	66. Orgasms and Loyalty

Dessie barely killed the engine of his car when he jumped out, taking off down the street to Catherine's. By the time he made it to the front gate, Jimmy was on his way out. He grabbed Jimmy by the collar of his coat, slamming him against a random car.

"I fuckin' told you to stay away from her! Why can't you get that through your thick skull?"

Jimmy could only chuckle, finding Dessie's attempt to assert dominance pathetic at best.

"Catherine and I were just talki-"

Hearing the syllables of her name roll off his tongue snapped Dessie. Letting go of Jimmy's coat, he cocked his fist back and punched him square in the nose. Jimmy's brain turned to static as the pain fried the nerves in his face. The feeling of a thousand pin-pricks tingled his cheeks with every beat of his heart. Instantly his eyes watered, and the warmth of blood dripping over his mouth followed.

If it hadn't been for the half bottle of scotch numbing his senses, Jimmy would have passed out. He was man enough to admit Dessie could throw one hell of a punch.

"Consider that your only warnin'. The next time you come here, I'll fuckin' kill ya."

Jimmy hawked a blood clot onto the sidewalk. "You don't have the balls."

"You wanna bet on that, O'Phelan?" Dessie challenged. "Don't push me."

"Catherine always ends up comin-"

Dessie pulled the butterfly knife from his back pocket, flipping it open in a single fluid motion. Before Jimmy even had a chance to finish his sentence, Dessie jammed the blade against his Adam's apple. Jimmy could feel the sting of his flesh slicing open as Dessie increased the pressure. Beads of blood slid down his neck, staining the collar of his white button-down.

"You keep her name outta your goddamn mouth," he instructed through clenched teeth. "Catherine and I are havin' a baby and gettin' married whether you like it or not. She's to be _my _wife; get over it. No longer will she be followin' you around like a lost puppy."

"I have a wee feelin' the marriage ship has since set sail there, Dess."

"The hell are you talkin' about?"

"Orgasms and loyalty; that's all she wants from a man. Why weren't ya honest with her about Eilish? Or at the very least about Rosie?"

Jimmy watched the mixture of utter terror and regret gloss over Dessie's eyes. "You didn't." When Jimmy didn't say a word, Dessie knew right then and there he had been thrown under the bus. He pressed the blade harder against his throat, blood oozing faster from the wound. "You motherfucker! I 'oughta slit your fuckin' throat right here!"

"Put that thing away before ya do somethin' stupid, kid," Jimmy tried pushing away Dessie's forearm, but he wouldn't budge. At this point, he was more annoyed than anything. The one thing he always hated about Dessie was how difficult it is to break his concentration. That's what made him such a brilliant sharpshooter. Jimmy trained him a little too well. "You kill me, the Belfast lads'll wipe you south Armagh boys clean off the map. I'd hate for Catherine to bury another fella."

Dessie despised it when Jimmy called him 'kid,' even though he joined the IRA before he could even legally buy beer. He pushed it out of his mind, knowing Jimmy was only trying to crawl under his skin.

"What did you say to her?"

"I could tell ya, but that would just take away all the fun for me. If I were you, I wouldn't leave her stewin' much longer. That girl has the same temper as her daddy."

For a moment he debated what to do. He didn't want to let Jimmy just walk away, but saying the south Armagh Brigade would be obliterated wasn't a threat, it was reality. As was the fact Catherine wasn't getting any calmer inside.

"_Tiocfaidh ar la, Dessie." _He remembered Catherine once telling him. _"Their day will come, too."_

Now wasn't the time or place.

Lowering the knife from Jimmy's neck wasn't Dessie admitting defeat. It was him swallowing his anger and realizing what was important. Protecting his relationship with Catherine was all he cared about. Jimmy was nothing more than the dirt on the soles of his boots.

Taking a step back, Dessie closed the knife and slipped it back into his pocket.

"What I said still stands. Ya come around here again, you're fuckin' done."

"Give it a week and I'll be back in her bed."

Dessie punched Jimmy in the mouth. "Do you ever shut your gob? Ya want another one?"

"She's-"

The word barely made it out of Jimmy's mouth before he was clocked in the nose again. Dessie flexed his hand, trying to shake away the soreness. He'd go for as long as it took for the message to be loud and clear.

Pinching the bridge of his bloodied nose, Jimmy slammed his fist onto the roof of some poor stranger's car. With Jimmy's back half turned to Dessie, he seized the opportunity he'd never forgive himself for if he let it slip. Remembering what his trainer at the boxing gym taught him, Dessie dropped Jimmy to his knees with a one-two punch to the kidney.

He doubled over, struggling to catch his breath after having the wind knocked out of him.

"Leave Catherine and the boys alone." Dessie spat on the ground next to Jimmy. "Enjoy pissin' blood for the next week, shithead."

* * *

Catherine was sitting on the stairs when Dessie eventually walked through the front door. He locked it behind him, sheepishly running a hand through his hair as he looked up at her.

She was far calmer than he'd been expecting, and that made him a bit more nervous.

Standing up, Catherine slowly walked down the steps. She stopped only inches in front of him.

"I'm sorry I never told you abo-"

She slapped him.

The sting of her hand sharply hitting his cheek was well deserved in his book.

"You'd give Eilish to Johnny Adair and the UDA to have my magnificent mouth wrapped around your cock, huh?"

"It was just banter with the lads, I wasn't seri-"

Catherine slapped him again. She didn't care to hear his two-bit excuses.

"And ya don't know why I wouldn't shag you when my standards are obviously low."

Dessie had never felt so ashamed in his life. The things he said while drunk and angry were never supposed to come back to him. He should have been more careful with what he said around Jimmy, though he never expected to see the day where he'd have such a serious relationship with Catherine.

"Of all people, I had to hear it from Jimmy that your daughter is twenty-five." The thickness of her voice made it painfully obvious she was choking back her tears. "Do you understand how much of a fuckin' fool you've made of me?"

He did, and he never intended for it to happen. So many times he wanted to tell her, but the timing never seemed right. The girls were long gone, it wasn't like Catherine had to worry about the awkward run-in.

"Do _you _understand I was bloody seventeen when Eilish got pregnant? For Christ's sake, my Ma has photos of me holdin' Rosie as a wee baby with me dressed in my goddamn school uniform."

Catherine's mind was racing to the point she could hardly formulate a coherent thought. In 1997 when she spent four weeks training with Dessie, he never hid the fact he was married with kids. Though at the time she had wrongly assumed his wee ones were just that - wee. Not teenagers. In her naivety, she also never wondered why for the entirety of those four weeks, he'd spent every night at the safe house with her.

"All those years ago when we'd stay up all night just talkin' how come ya never told me? I was honest with you about Jimmy. I was even honest with you about Ian!"

"You never asked! I wasn't gonna talk your ear off with shite ya didn't ask about." He took a breath, deciding to be open with her. What good would it do now to keep it all hidden? "At the risk of soundin' like a complete horny prick-"

"Too late," Catherine interjected, crossing her arms over her chest.

Dessie groaned, then finished his thought. "Back then, I wanted to bend ya over and fuck the soul right outta ya. I was afraid if ya knew how old Rosie and Jenni were, you'd never see me _that _way."

"So it's true then. All I am to you is a tight arse and a pair of tits."

He buried his face in his hands, wanting to scream and wishing he had slit Jimmy's throat. He needed a drink. Grabbing Catherine's hand, Dessie walked her into the kitchen with him. A small part of him was surprised she hasn't tried jerking her hand away, while a large part was overly hopeful. If she had already made up her mind about ending their relationship, she wouldn't even be entertaining this conversation.

Taking off his jacket and draping it over one of the chairs, Dessie instructed Catherine to sit. She did. A small smile threatened to expose itself as she watched him move about her kitchen as if it were his own. Dessie turned on the electric kettle and grabbed her favorite mug and a bag of chamomile tea while the water boiled. For himself, a double whiskey neat.

"Drinkin' in front of a pregnant woman. That's a wee bit unfair isn't it?"

Dessie rolled his eyes, setting the glass down before he even had a chance to take a sip. Picking up the bottle, he smiled sarcastically and poured a shot down the sink for her. Catherine couldn't help but grin at the gesture.

When he set her cup of tea in front of her, he sat down, too, gulping almost half the whiskey in one mouthful.

"To answer your question, at first, aye, ya were just a tight hole and a big pair of tits. But over that month, the more I got to know ya as a person and as a soldier, I respected the hell outta ya. You became more than that to me, and I'd never forgive me'self if I shagged ya and dipped like I did to the rest of 'em."

Catherine slowly drank her tea, showing no emotion to what Dessie said. It wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but she appreciated the honesty.

After she set the mug on the table, Dessie reached out and grabbed her warm hands, holding them tightly in his.

"You are the woman I will spend the rest of my life charishin', lovin', and worshipin'."

"It's a wee bit weird, so it is. I mean c'mon, Dessie. Five years…"

"Is that you thinkin' it, or is it Jimmy tellin' ya it is? I was seventeen and thinkin' with my cock. What were you doin' at seventeen?" Dessie released Catherine's hand and tapped his index finger to his chin. He snapped his fingers. "I know! You were fuckin' your uncle's former best mate. Who, at the same time, was also fuckin' your uncle's wife. Ya really wanna get into what's weird and what isn't?"

The cold expression on Catherine's face told Dessie he hit a raw nerve, but it was a nerve that needed to be hit, nonetheless. He didn't want to sound like an asshole, though doing so got his point across. They were both once young and stupid with their unwise decisions producing permanent consequences.

Dessie loved and accepted Eamonn and Sean as if they were his sons. He wasn't expecting the same from Catherine when it came to his daughters - he just wanted her to accept that what's done is done.

He wouldn't dare tell her he'd once been uncomfortable with how young she is. That's why it took him six years to make a move in the first place. Then after she awkwardly pulled away when he went in for a kiss the year before she started dating Darragh, Dessie had given up all hope on his chances for a romantic relationship.

With a solid foundation of friendship beneath their feet, that had been enough for him. He just wanted to see her happy.

"How many other women are you seein' now?" she asked.

"Hand to God, none. Just like how you haven't been with Jimmy since he was released from Maghaberry, I haven't been with anyone else since that night in Dundalk."

"How can I trust you won't get bored of sex with me after a couple'a years as ya did with Eilish?"

Catherine watched Dessie's brow furrow and his jaw flex. He grabbed the pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket and lit up.

"I got bored," he said, blowing the smoke away from Catherine. "Is that what Jimmy told ya?"

She nodded.

Placing both elbows on the table, genuine anger washed over Dessie. He muttered, "That sonofabitch," before taking a long drag.

Catherine shifted uncomfortably in the chair as she passed him the ashtray. Flicking ashes of his smoke, he drank the last of his whiskey. He asked Catherine to pour him another two fingers, needing all the alcohol he could get to dull the burn of humiliation all over again.

Realizing something was wrong with the story Jimmy told her, Catherine grabbed Dessie's glass and got up. From behind, she wrapped her arms around him, kissing his temple. After a moment, she let go and moved on to pouring his whiskey. When she came back to the table and handed it to him, Dessie finished it in one pull.

"What Jimmy told you couldn't be further from the truth, but what's shite is no matter what, I always end up lookin' like the arsehole."

"I'll be the judge of that."

Dessie crushed the cigarette and leaned back in the chair. He had never outright spoken about what happened; it was an open secret in Crossmaglen that everyone turned a blind eye to.

"The long and short of it is three months before Jenni was born, I caught word Eilish was shaggin' my commander at the time. She promised it was over, and I stupidly believed her. Turns out that was a fat lie. It ended only after he accidentally killed himself while makin' pipe bombs. She spent the first five years of our marriage havin' an affair, so I spent the last nine fuckin' any broad who so much as smiled at me. The cherry on top of it all? Wee Jenni looks just like her da; blonde hair, blue eyes and all."

"Christ, Dessie." Catherine grabbed his hand, bringing it to her mouth to kiss his knuckles. "Why didn't you divorce her?"

"Eilish dropped out of school, she has no skills - had no way to properly support the girls on her own. As far as I was concerned, both those girls were mine so I wasn't gonna walk away."

"For what it's worth, I don't think you're the arse. She is. She screwed around first, had a wee baby with another man, and then had the audacity to divorce ya when you were sent to Maghaberry. I may not be the perfect wife, but I'll never double-cross ya as she did. Nor would I even think to leave if, God forbid, ya end up back in prison."

Dessie chuckled. With the hand Catherine wasn't holding, he reached out and cupped her jaw, rubbing his thumb along her lips. "I don't need ya to be perfect, baby. I just need you to love me and be loyal."

"Always." She kissed his thumb. "So ya wanted to fuck the soul right outta me, huh? I didn't get that impression considerin' you were such a dick. Made me take bloody freezin' cold showers for nearly a month."

"Full disclosure, I feel terrible for doin' that, but ya really pissed me off. After a long day at work, all I wanted was a hot shower, but nope, you used all the hot water. So I turned off the fuckin' water heater; only turned it on when I wanted a shower. You did get me back pretty damn good, though. I almost shite when the plastic spiders fell on me."

Catherine started laughing so hard at the memory, tears slipped from her eyes. Dessie couldn't help but laugh either. "I've never heard a grown man shriek the way you did. And then you scared me half to death jumpin' out of the bush with a clown mask on. We had some damn good times, didn't we?"

"Aye. But the best part is that we'll have a lifetime of good times once you're in Cross with me. Not just a month." Looking at his watch, he was bummed to see how late it was getting. A light bulb went off in his head. "I may have given Jimmy a wee beat down so I'm not comfortable leavin' ya here alone. There's no way I can miss work after callin' off today. Since tomorrow's Friday, why don't you and boys play hooky? Come home with me tonight."

Leaning back in her chair, Catherine looked down as she rubbed her rapidly growing belly.

"What do ya think? Should we go home with Daddy?" she cooed. "I think it's a good idea, too."


	67. Holy Grail

**Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

Friday night after a ten-hour shift at the garage, Dessie was on the floor wrestling with Eamonn and Sean even though Catherine told him not to rile them up. As Eamonn jumped on Dessie's back trying to bring him down, the biggest kid of them all swept Sean off his feet, playfully body slamming the giggling boy on the couch.

From the kitchen where she was washing the dishes from dinner, all Catherine could do was shake her head. Eamonn's shrill shriek echoed throughout the small flat, followed by Dessie's deep hearty laughter. Despite knowing just how difficult it would be to wind the boys down for the night now, it no longer mattered as she listened to her three boys roughhousing.

Rinsing off the last plate, Catherine set it in the drying rack and shut off the water. She dried her hands, curling them into fists when the loud whack of a body hitting the floor shook the flat.

"Shite. Ya good?" she heard Dessie say.

Then came Sean's excited, "I wanna do that again!"

Catherine set the folded towel down on the countertop. She placed a hand on her belly, rubbing softly.

"Please be a wee girl," she whispered.

Turning off the kitchen light, Catherine sauntered into the living room. She stood off to the side with her hands on her hips as she watched Eamonn jump off the couch and land right on Dessie, who was lying on his back trying to fend off Sean. This was exactly what she's always wanted for them.

Glancing over to the muted television, the joy she felt quickly subsided. It was replaced with a wave of alarm when she saw the bright yellow 'Breaking News' banner across the screen.

"Dessie," she said, trying to get his attention. When that didn't work she said his name again, this time louder.

Rising to his knees with Sean over his broad shoulder, Dessie smiled at Catherine. The seriousness of her expression caused his smile to fall, and he filled with the same dread she was feeling after noticing what she did.

Playtime came to a grinding halt.

Gently setting Sean on his feet, Dessie hushed both boys as he unmuted Sky News.

"...police say four improvised explosives were found just outside Cookstown in Northern Ireland. The driver of the vehicle they were found in has been arrested-"

Dessie muted it again just as his burner phone started ringing. Snatching it off the table, he nonchalantly went into the bedroom mainly so the boys wouldn't overhear anything.

After setting them up with a movie, Catherine headed down the hall to the bedroom. She opened the door to find Dessie sitting on the edge of his bed. He had the phone glued to his ear as he watched the coverage on Sky News at a low volume. He didn't say much, just repeated "aye," and "dead on" over and over. His attention was far more focused on the scrolling ticker at the bottom of the screen.

Looking over his shoulder, Dessie quickly ended the call as she closed the door and leaned against it.

"You were supposed to be at that drop," she said.

"Yeah, I'm well aware of that, Catherine."

She went rigid at his dagger tone, not expecting him to react that way. Catherine understood he was stressed out after what was supposed to be a routine operation, suddenly went to shit. Still, she wasn't going to let him take his frustrations out on her. She had done it enough with Jimmy and Darragh.

Turning around to open the door, Catherine barely had the doorknob twisted when Dessie's head shot up in her direction. And a strange panic knotted his insides when he realized she was about to leave the bedroom.

"I'm sorry for snappin' at ya; you're the last bloody person who deserves it."

He patted the space beside him. For a split second Catherine considered being petty and still walk out regardless of his apology. But really, what would that accomplish?

Easing her hand off the door handle, Catherine then sat next to him. He curled an arm around her shoulders, affectionately kissing her temple.

"Any word on how many arrests there were?"

"Aye," Dessie sighed. "Kieran said it was only the two fellas from Derry. They never made it to the exchange site so my lads are all accounted for."

Catherine tried to relax, but her racing mind was preventing her from being able to. Resting her head against him, she melted when his arm dropped and he began to rub her back. Though her body turned to mush under his touch, her mind kept racing.

"Do you think this was just a coincidence, or…"

"I hope to God it is. This is what I fuckin' hate about there bein' such a large command now. Too many lads knew the plan - and it's shite I had to let 'em bring down the pipes from Derry. If the Kings had left me alone and let me take care of it, this never would've happened."

"How many knew?"

Dessie took a breath, mentally tallying the total. "Eleven, that I know of.*

Catherine ran her fingers through her hair, unsure if she had heard him correctly. It boggled her mind so many others knew the plan. Both Catherine and Dessie operated on the belief that no more than five volunteers should know. Even then information between the OC, intelligence and operations officers shouldn't be shared with the lower levels until the night before.

Reaching over, she placed her hand over his, which was resting on his knee. She knew what Dessie was thinking, but was too afraid to say. Respecting him as a soldier and a brilliant officer commanding, and most importantly as the man she loved, she understood it was her responsibility to bring up the difficult conversations.

"There were two others before this. You've got a problem, Dess."

"Aye, I suppose I do. A shitty tout," he said bitterly. "Tomorrow afternoon I'm meetin' the lads in Forkhill to finalize plans for the bank job, but now I'm not sure if we should go through with it."

"Set cheese in a trap. Find who takes a wee bite and you'll have your tout."

"It's been over a decade since south Armagh's had to deal with this shite."

"Keep it close," she reminded him. "Don't let anyone know you suspect there's a leak. I know how close ya are to your lieutenants, but everyone has to be considered."

Admitting she was right was a tough pill for Dessie to swallow. He didn't want to believe one of his closest and most trusted advisors could be tainted.

"I'll talk to em separately - throw out plans for operations and see what happens."

Catherine took her hand off his. "Why didn't you tell me you're meetin' with the lads tomorrow? I thought we were takin' the boys to Slieve Gullion for the day."

Dessie knew this would come up at some point. He'd been hoping to break the news to her in the morning over coffee so that he could claim it was a last-minute rendezvous. Then he'd insist she still take the boys hiking so they wouldn't be cooped up all day, and that it would be no bother for him to drop them off given the proximity of the mountain to Forkhill.

Too bad he let it slip too soon.

"And if it's about the bank job," she wondered, "then why wasn't I asked to be there?"

To say he had to tread carefully was the understatement of the fucking year.

He got up and grabbed the cigarettes off the dresser, lighting up. He leaned against the wall, scratching the top of his head.

"You and I have been workin' together for a long time. We've built a strong relationship based on mutual trust and respect, but the lads don't necessarily feel the same as me. It's nothing personal against you, Catherine, but ya know how it is down here in south Armagh."

Catherine swallowed the lump in her throat at the same time she pulled herself together. She needed to stay levelheaded, not bogged down in the feeling of being personally attacked. However, the pregnancy hormones were making that virtually impossible.

"What you're sayin' is that the lads don't trust me because I'm from Belfast, not south Armagh."

Dessie nodded, blowing smoke from his nostrils. In such a rural area, outsiders were always kept at arm's length.

"It's also because of Liam."

"What my brother did has no bearin' on how I conduct myself as a soldier." Her voice tightened. "I've given 'em no reason to question my loyalty!"

"Ya need to understand family ties mean a lot more here."

"This is fuckin' shite, Dessie, and you know it. The job was my idea - the lads were happy to include me when it was my bloody connections they were usin'. I can't believe you'd just bend to 'em like this."

"They're my men! I have to take into consideration how they want to run an operation."

"But this isn't a True army operation. It's ONH-"

"Which is made up of a majority of south Armagh lads," Dessie reminded her.

Catherine gave up. He was just making her feel as though she would never be part of the exclusive south Armagh club no matter what she did. It felt like a knife in the back, especially considering she's been their biggest lobbyist to the leadership in Belfast.

"When I move down here, maybe I should stay under Belfast command, then. And step away from the logistics of ONH."

Dessie shook his head and spoke to her in Irish.

"Ya know I hate it when ya don't speak English because I can't bloody understand ya!"

"Me, your Da, and even Jimmy have been tellin' ya for years to learn Gaeilge. Maybe that's what ya should've been focusin' your time on instead of Russian. When ya swore into the Ra, you promised to promote the revival of the Irish language as the everyday language of the people. By not even botherin' to learn, you've failed the IRA and the Irish nation. Most of all, you've failed yourself and Eamonn and Sean. I grew up knowin' both languages so you can bet your arse our child will, too."

Catherine was left stunned. She had no idea how the conversation turned so personal against her.

"I failed my boys, huh?" she asked calmly. "I've been focused on keepin' normalcy in their lives ever since their da was killed by loyalist bastards. None of that matters because I haven't taught 'em to speak Irish. In the eyes of the flawless Desmond Dennehy, I'm a failure of a mother. Good to know. By the way, I know how important havin' a bilingual home is to you, so I've been payin' a wee girl from St. Dom's to come over three nights a week and teach me and the boys, ya daft prick."

Dessie set the still smoldering cigarette in the ashtray on the nightstand, then placed his hands on his chest. "If ya don't tell me this shite, I don't know."

"I'm not the only one keepin' secrets, so quit your preachin'."

"I told ya over and over how sorry I am for not tellin' ya about Eilish and Rosie."

"That's not what I'm talkin' about. Were you even gonna tell me what you were meetin' with the lads about tomorrow? Or were ya gonna make me think it was True army, not ONH business?"

"Holy shite, Catherine! Let it fuckin' go - you're not as much of a big shot as ya think you are. We had this goin' well before ya joined, it doesn't revolve around you."

"I was your chief of staff. I know what it takes to lead the organization."

"You held the position for what? A month? I've been an OC for years, so I think I'm a wee bit more qualified. And look where it got ya. Been in for over ten years and you're back to fetchin' Jimmy's dry cleanin' and coffee. Right about now, it looks like you'll runnin' my errands once you're in my brigade."

Dessie regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. He didn't mean a lick of what he said. He was angry, feeling as though she wasn't respecting the way things ran there. Dessie loved Catherine with every bone in his body, but it would be a cold day in hell when he allowed the Belfast lass to shake up the brigade.

And then he muttered something even stupider, "If you workin' down here is gonna cause problems between us, maybe it would be a good idea for you to stay under Jimmy's command."

Catherine nodded and rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. If that's how he wanted things, then so be it. Lifting the sleeve of her shirt, she checked her watch. If she made it back to Belfast before Jimmy left for Donegal, maybe there was a chance she could convince him to let her tag along on the shipment coming into Dungloe in only a few hours. She had said no when he originally asked if she wanted to come, wrongfully thinking Dessie planned to be around for the weekend. If he was going to put the cause above she and the boys, Catherine wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. See how he liked being the one to hold down the fort while she was off playing soldier.

Getting off the bed, she grabbed a hooded sweatshirt from the bottom drawer of his dresser, putting it on, then grabbing the keys to her car and her purse.

Watching her slip on her battered black and white Converse, Dessie pinched the bridge his nose. "Where the hell do ya think you're goin'? It's almost nine."

"You are not my officer commandin'. The only man I answer to is Jimmy."

Catherine didn't realize how that sounded to Dessie. When she reached out to pick up her phone off the bed, Dessie gripped her wrist, spinning her around to press her back against the wall. He let go of her instantly. Catherine didn't dare move, staring up at him with the same intimidation he had made her first feel over a decade ago. Dessie was nowhere as frightening as Jimmy but like Patrick, he was an inured man.

"So we're both on the same page here, I am the only man you will answer to so long as we're together. Am I clear? Or do I need to break it down even more for ya?"

She didn't appreciate being patronized. Her chest heaved from heavy breaths as she stared into his deep brown eyes. They were darker than she's ever seen them, which sent a chill down her spine. Dessie learned his lesson not to let Catherine walk over him as she had one night in Forkhill when she pressured him to sit in on the interrogation of a Real army volunteer.

"You're clear."

"I'm never gonna tell you what to do because you're a grown woman capable of makin' her own decisions. I know there's a shipment comin' in through Dungloe later tonight, and you know how I feel about you bein' around Jimmy and the guns. You're free to do as you please, but I strongly advise you not to walk outta that fuckin' door."

Dessie moved aside, a smug smirk on his face. Catherine huffed, tossing her keys and phone into the bed. She respected Dessie far too much and hated Jimmy even more, so she couldn't bring herself to leave.

"You're an arsehole for what ya said about me failin' the boys, and how you'll have me doin' nothin' other than runnin' your errands if I join the brigade."

He cringed, not wanting to admit he said those terrible things to her. His biggest downfall was his inability to stop talking when his emotions got the better of him. Gathering her face in his hands, Dessie pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. He'd have to spend the rest of his life making up for this mistake.

* * *

**Forkhill, Northern Ireland**

The table was littered with empty beer cans, maps, photos of their target. An overflowing ashtray sat in the center.

Most of the details for their plan to hit the Northern Bank were hammered out. Five PSNI uniforms had been stolen by Catherine and the wooden crates were sitting safely in the barn. Garrett Campbell had been thoroughly vetted by a few members of Belfast's security unit, and Rory figured out the best time to hit, as well as their entrance and exit strategies. All they had left to do was discuss where they'd put the money, along with what stash of weapons they'd use.

Pouring four more shots of whiskey, Kieran passed them around the table to Dessie, Rory, and Connor.

"I thinkin'," Kieran paused to take his shot, "that we bring the van loaded with the crates back here. We can go through 'em, count what we got, and stuff the bills we don't need right away into holdalls. Then, we'll bury it here," he circled a spot on the map, "just over the border in County Monaghan. It's easy to get to undetected, and secluded enough no one'll think to go diggin'."

A chill shot through Dessie just before the warmth of the whiskey settled. He let his operations officer's plan digest, looking over the map Kieran marked up. It was a decent and easy idea which he liked; left little room for things to go wrong.

"Do you think we'll need a scout car?" Dessie asked genuinely.

If he didn't need to bring men to the area where they'd be burying the money, then he wouldn't. With a tout so obviously floating around, the fewer people who knew the location, the better.

Kieran scratched at the three-day stubble on his jaw, thinking. "I do, just to be on the safe side. There's no of knowin' just how long it'll take for anyone in Belfast to realize the money is gone. Once the peelers get word what happened, Gardaí'll probably have units watchin' the border. PSNI, too."

"He's got a point, Dess." Rory insisted.

Dessie didn't need Rory's two-cents. The relationship between him and Kieran stretched back nearly two decades. There was no one else's judgment who Dessie trusted more. If Kieran said he thinks a scout car is a good idea, then that's exactly what they'll do.

"I only want one car. Black, preferably. Nab it in the middle of the night from Newry, and I'll swipe numberplates off one of the cars at the garage. Any idea on who should drive?"

"A lad with years," Connor suggested. "I wouldn't bring in one of the fellas from Belfast because they don't know the roads."

"Paddy O'Toole would," said Kieran. "Back in the day when south Armagh was helpin' the Belfast lads assemble car bombs, it was Paddy and Filip who'd come to collect. They had to know the roads like the back of their hands to do that."

Rory scoffed, "Can't have Paddy do it. He'd insist Catherine go with him. She's the last person we need knowin' where the money is."

Dessie stopped mid-pour as he filled his glass again. He set the bottle down with a thud, turning his attention to Rory. By how his brow furrowed and the icy expression on Dessie's face, Connor and Kieran buckled up for the ride.

"Please explain to me why ya think she's the last person who should know."

"C'mon Dess. You're gonna make me spell it out for you?"

Leaning back in his chair, Dessie crossed his arms over his chest. "Please do."

Rory's face turned several shades of red as he stammered, "It's - I mean - it's nothin' against you, I just don't trust her." He pointed to Connor. "Brods over there agrees with me!"

Connor stood from his chair, almost leaping over the table. Kieran grabbed him by the waistband of his Wranglers just in time. "Don't fuckin' pull me into this, ya prick."

Dessie couldn't believe what he was hearing, and he was left utterly confused. When he brought the idea of Catherine joining their unit, and being a founding member of ONH, they all agreed without hesitation. Less than two weeks before one of the biggest operations of their lives, it was being dumped on him they didn't trust her. What changed?

"You trust Catherine?" he asked Kieran.

"Aye. Got no reason not to."

"And what about you, Brods? You trust her?"

Connor nodded.

Taking a deep breath to cool the bubbling volcano that was his irritation, Dessie scrubbed his face with his hands. This was the last fucking thing he needed.

"Give us the room, lads?" Dessie spoke into his hands.

Kieran and Connor jumped up, scurrying from the room. They didn't venture too far, wanting to be within earshot in case emotions flared.

Tucking a cigarette into the corner of his mouth, Dessie lit it. "What's your fuckin' problem with Cate all of a sudden?"

Rory regretted opening his mouth now. He was fuming with Connor, believing he only changed his mind as to not end up on Dessie's shit-list.

"God forbid anyone says anythin' bad about the almighty Catherine O'Toole. Is her fanny the Holy Grail or somethin'? She had Darragh wrapped around her finger, now she's got your balls in a goddamn vice. Jesus, Dess, wake the fuck up, man."

It only pissed Rory off more as Dessie looked at him amusingly, just blowing smoke rings into the air.

He continued, "She a fuckin' black widow. She'll suck the life outta ya just like she did to Darragh. Jimmy probably pushed her to shag ya so she could report back to him on what's goin' on down here."

Dessie wasn't sure whether or not to be insulted over Rory insinuating the way he could get a girl like Catherine is if she were pimped out. It infuriated him to the core hearing Rory talk about her like that. Rory didn't have the slightest clue as to what went on in their relationship.

As far as he saw it, the only thing Rory got right in his entire rant, was Catherine's cunt being damn near close to the Holy Grail. It was pretty and pink and tasted damn sweet. Even after two kids, everything was neatly tucked in. But no way would Dessie divulge that information.

He did think it was funny how matter-of-factly Rory said Catherine had his balls in a vice. It took every ounce of self-control he had not to burst out laughing at something so ridiculous. Did he look like the kind of man who would allow any woman to dictate his life?

"Ya done?" Dessie chuckled. When Rory didn't respond, he tried to figure out where the hell to start first. "I dare ya to make mention of Catherine's fanny again. See where that gets ya. Not sure how it works with you and the wife, but what I do know is that in mine, I have the final say in all decisions, the cause included, not Catherine. Besides, what has she done that has ya questionin' her loyalty? Is this about what happened with the Real army? Because if it is-"

"She fucked an Englishman, did ya know that? He's a peeler up in Belfast."

Dessie's stomach went somersaulting as he crushed out his cigarette. Did he admit what he knew? Or play it off? Knowing there was a tout in the ranks, he had to keep everything close to his chest from this point on.

"Aye, I know. What's your worry?"

"Two lads were arrested last night and she advised on that operation. Then there are the others that went to shite. It's gotta be her, she's gotta be the one leakin' our information to the Englishman."

Dessie was walking on eggshells now. What Rory seemed to have forgotten was that Catherine had nothing to do with the other operations which were foiled by the police. He had only told her about them after the fact, so there was no way she could have informed Ian beforehand. Despite their reservations about having someone new getting this close to the brigade operations, none of the other guys had been this quick to brand Catherine as the tout.

Certainly now, Dessie wasn't going to tell Rory that he had Catherine sit down with the security unit after she came clean about her affair. For nine hours, she was drilled with questions and her story stayed the same. The unit safely concluded that Catherine was telling the truth - never once did she give any information regarding the IRA to Ian.

If Rory knew she had been debriefed, he'd stop pointing the finger at her. Out of his curiosity, Dessie wanted to see why Rory was gunning hard for Catherine. Maybe he did just distrust her so much, he made up his mind that easily about her.

Something told Dessie it was a little more complicated than that.

"I'll leave her out of any talks from now on, okay? Would it make ya feel more comfortable if I put eyes on her in Belfast? Then we can know who she's seein' and who she's talkin' to." Rory nodded, not having the slightest clue that Dessie was lying straight to his face. "I've been wonderin' if we should get a full inquiry goin'. Bring in lads from outside to handle it."

"If ya did that, it would be nasty for us all. Not to mention how awful you'd look if it came out you were gettin' two-timed again, this time with a lass who's sharin' your pillow talk with a copper. Since you're keepin' her out of this, is there anythin' ya need me to help ya with?"

Dessie took a deep breath. Rory had no idea how close he was to having his fingers broken as a warning to not talk like that anymore.

Before they all sat around the table, Dessie pulled Connor aside and told him about a new plan on the following Thursday - a pipe bomb hit against a police officer at his home in the Culmore area of Derry. When he was outside smoking with Kieran, Dessie mentioned another pipe bomb. This one would take place in two weeks, at the break of dawn against a cop at home in Irvinestown, Enniskillen. In the morning as they drank their coffee and did the crossword puzzle in the _Irish Times _together, he told Catherine about hitting an officer in the Woodside neighborhood of Poleglass in west Belfast.

"In two weeks, we're hittin' a Prot copper in Lisburn. Ballymacash estate. The lad who's gonna stash the pipe bomb under the car is gonna come through Forkhill so I may need ya to drive him over the border."

Rory nodded.

The only operation which wasn't fictional was the one in Belfast. Considering that was still her territory, he wanted her to have a head's up.

The traps were set, and all he needed to do now was put his ear to the ground and wait for the sound of rats. If the Belfast operation ended belly-up, or if he turned on the news to see police and army technical experts on their way to Derry, Irvinestown, or Lisburn, Dessie would know who to string up.


	68. Zero Tolerance

**April 2009**

In rural south Armagh, where the hillside sloped into the Irish Republic, there was a farm lane right off a single-lane road. It was a decent alternative to a snooker and pool club or one of the MI5 safe houses peppered throughout the area. The biggest advantage: a car could be parked and remain nearly invisible from the road.

Despite that, ZERO knew meeting in a remote location meant fuck all. The countryside may be less populated, but the dissident Republicans who lived there knew the unmarked footpaths and farm tracks like the back of their hands. Setting up a rendezvous in Belfast or Newry was risky, though staying within the limits of Bandit Country was riskier. All it would take is one person seeing him with the agent for ZERO to be dragged from his home for an unpleasant meeting with Dessie and several members of the Internal Security Unit.

The IRA always had a zero-tolerance policy when it came to touts. Although, before Dessie was promoted as the brigade's officer commanding, informers once stood a chance at making it out of Northern Ireland alive. A court-martial and order of exile were no longer a possibility. After a tout led to his downfall, Dessie didn't believe in showing mercy.

That meant ZERO could first expect a brutal beating. Then a black hood would go over his head, where he'd be ordered to confess to his crimes guilty or not. For the grand finale, a six pack - bullets to the ankles, knees, and elbows. If he was lucky, a round would lodge itself into the back of his skull to end the suffering.

Sitting in his car, ZERO couldn't focus enough to read the issue of the _Belfast Telegraph _he picked up earlier in the morning. He concentrated on the deep gray, almost black clouds as they opened up into a heavy downpour. He looked at the neon numbers on the clock on the dashboard - it was nine in the morning.

"Why am I fuckin' doin' this?" he wondered.

The answer was obvious. He hadn't seen employment for the better part of the year. Not since the economic crisis struck and Northern Ireland's housing market started to nose-dive. There was no longer a demand for builders for him, and he still needed to put food on the table. The mortgage he took out during the bubble of 2005 still needed to be paid. The fifteen-hundred pounds which were deposited directly into a clandestine bank account was making life a bit easier.

Initially, fear of losing his house made him cave under the heavy MI5 pressure. Now it was fear of Dessie suspecting a leak that made him want out.

Glancing into the rearview mirror, ZERO saw the pristine white SUV pull up behind him. He folded the newspaper as Tyler Pierce - his handler - climbed into the front seat.

"The tip panned out just as ya said." Tyler wiped droplets of rain off his glasses with a handkerchief.

"I bloody told ya it would."

"You're lucky this one went down smooth. Unlike last time when ya led us right into a goddamn ambush on the border."

ZERO swallowed the choice words he wanted to spit at the agent. He warned them an ambush on a convoy was precisely what Dessie looked to achieve. It wasn't his fault MI5 hadn't listened to his warning about not rolling up on the operation while it was in progress. The PSNI and MI5 only had themselves to blame for the injuries caused by the roadside bombs and sniper rounds.

What they failed to realize was that their overzealous behavior had driven Dessie underground. The sheer number of law enforcement officers who stumbled upon ground zero spooked him. Dessie hated only being in control logistically, but Catherine successfully convinced him that being sent back to Maghaberry to serve out a minimum sixty-year term wasn't a good way to start their marriage.

"Maybe next time you'll listen to me when I say not to show up. Dessie...he's smart and dangerous. One minute you'll think you've got him nabbed, then the next...boom! He'll turn your feckin' head into a pink mist with a .50 cal."

"Do ya think I'm that much of a bleedin' eejit?" Tyler sneered. "How about I send your OC a wee note, tellin' him you're the bloody tout. It'll be nothin' definitive - just enough for 'em to carry out an inquiry. I have a wee feelin' touts still don't go down well in south Armagh. You'll end up with the bag over your head; that wife of yours'll be a widow and the weans fatherless."

"Go straight to hell, ya Orange bastard!" ZERO snapped back, clenching his hands tightly on the steering wheel. "You know shite about what it's like to be down here, with your cozy government job and fat pension and all. I risk me arse for you every goddamn day. I'm sick of it, so I am! I want out!"

"You're finished when I say you are. Maybe it won't just be your OC I slip the word to, but the police, too. How does a stretch in Maghaberry sound? Of course, that's assumin' Dessie doesn't get to ya first. I'm payin' ya, I'm keepin' you alive - don't fuck with me."

ZERO couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. The walls of his life were caving in and there was nothing he could do to stop it. At this point, he was too far in. Realistically, there were only two options: end up in prison or die by the hands of the men in his unit, as Tyler eloquently put pointed it. Thankfully, there was a third - grab as much cash from the loot stash after the bank job and head someplace warm.

"What's Dessie got planned next? You can't leave me waitin' with my thumb up my arse here."

ZERO closed his eyes, dropping his chin into his chest. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "A pipe bomb in Belfast tomorrow. Poleglass. Woodside, I think."

"Ya think, or ya know?

"I know. Should happen early in the morn' just as he's leavin' for his shift."

"Brilliant. See, that wasn't so difficult," Tyler taunted. "One last thing. ATF's been sniffin' around for intel on the Belfast crew; what can ya tell me about Catherine O'Toole? "

* * *

The dark clouds swirling over the peak of Slieve Gullion reflected Dessie's mood as he climbed out of his Volkswagen. He crossed the parking lot to the other cars where Kieran, Connor, and Rory stood waiting.

It was putting it mildly to say Dessie spent the last several days in constant anxiety. The shit-storms hit one right after the other.

Earlier in the week, he received a call from his cigarette supplier in the dead of night Boston-time. He was told they had caught an ATF tail and to not expect this month's shipment of three million cigarettes. They promised they'd make it up with a shipment of seven million in four weeks. Telling Jimmy the news rubbed his nerves raw. Not to mention the Kings were up his ass, bitching about the lost profits.

That morning when he got to work, Dessie had just started on a suspension/steering rebuild when Catherine called him in a panic. His careful planning to take out a Protestant constable in west Belfast unraveled right before his eyes. She told him the roads had been blocked off and were littered with armored vehicles as the army defused the pipe bomb stashed under the constable's car.

He was left angry and confused, trying to figure out what the odds were that the Belfast operation would be foiled. Catherine and one other volunteer had known about it, so they were obviously at the top of Dessie's list. Then, on the other hand, he had been sent a video in the afternoon that made him whip his wrench so hard against the wall, it sent the titty calendar from 1994 to the ground.

Taking his smartphone out of his pocket, Dessie summoned his men. "C'mere ya feckers and take a look at this. A lad in Newry sent it to me."

Reluctantly, the three men gathered around him to look at the screen. Dessie tapped the play button and a shaky video started. It was footage of a teenage boy in a St. Paul's school uniform attempting skateboard tricks. What originally caught Dessie's eye was the pristine white SUV parked on the other side of the road, in front of the high school.

"Forget the shite on the skateboard and focus on the car," Dessie said, pausing the video. "The bloke gettin' out...looks a lot like you, doesn't it? Havin' a wee chat were ya?"

Dessie glanced at Rory, who was standing beside him. He carefully watched as Rory's eyes widened and he fought to control his tightening expression.

"When was that taken?" asked Kieran.

"Tuesday before last," Dessie answered.

"It's nowhere near ya think it is, Dess. I was havin' a chat with a fella I know who owns a construction company about a housin' development he got a contract for. I'm without a job in case you eejits have forgotten. For fucks sakes. I'm your bloody intelligence officer - if I was toutin' you'd've been back in prison years ago."

Dessie disregarded what Rory said. "This Belfast job marks our fourth foiled operation in six weeks. At this point, I'm ready to pull youse off the job tomorrow, just have Catherine and the Belfast crew handle it." Turning back to Rory, he crossed his arms and held a cold stare. "The other fella in the car...what's his name?"

"Martin O'Neill," he answered without hesitation.

Dessie nodded, still feeling he was being lied to. When the video was first sent to him, he had reached out to one of his volunteers to run a check on the number plate on the car. No information had come back yet. He just wanted to give Rory a chance to confess before things became messy.

* * *

By the time Dessie made it back home, it was well after eleven. He gently closed and locked up the front door, trying to make as little noise as possible. Eamonn and Sean were dead to the world as they slept soundly on the sofa bed. It bummed him out he didn't have the extra space to give them proper sleeping quarters when they were in Crossmaglen, but Dessie reminded himself in only a few short months, they'd each have their own bedroom for the first time.

Heading down the hall to his bedroom, Dessie opened the door to find Catherine wide awake, sitting on top of the blankets watching South Park on MTV. He was immediately assaulted with the harsh fumes of acetone and nail lacquer filling the cramped space.

"Jesus, Catherine. You know I can't stand it when ya do that shite in here," he scolded, moving to open the sole window. "I doubt you should be anywhere near those chemicals while your pregnant."

Catherine was thankful for the cool breeze rolling in when Dessie stripped from his shirt. He hadn't mentioned it to her at all, but it was obvious he'd been hitting the gym for some time now. His once defined muscles were starting to make a comeback, with his belly now down to a slight pudge. The irony, as Catherine saw it, was that as he lost the pounds she was quickly finding them.

"This ya have a wee problem with, but not me still bein' involved in the business?"

Dessie sat on the bed in front of Catherine. "What can I say? My priorities aren't always morally correct."

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around him, kissing the black dara knot tattoo between his shoulder blades.

"How'd it go with the lads?" she asked.

Between the soft caressing and warm kisses on his chilled flesh, Dessie was having a hard time concentrating. He was only focused on the way Catherine touched him. He didn't want to think about anything else, but that wasn't possible.

"One of 'em is lyin' to me, that I'm sure of. Please don't fight me on this, but I don't want you havin' anythin' to do with tomorrow. You and the boys can come to Forkhill with me; that's it."

"I don't want you havin' anythin' to do with tomorrow, either." Her words were deliberately soft and slow. She raked her fingernails through his chest hair, pressing delicate kisses to any patch of exposed skin her lips could find. "Don't forget you're chief of staff for Oglaigh na hEireann, Dessie, and this is an Oglaigh na hEireann operation. You have a tout on your hands, be it the volunteer is True army or ONH, you need to protect yourself. You're the leader we need, and ya can't do it while sittin' in Magahberry." She knew exactly what she was doing as she grabbed his wrist, slightly twisting his arm behind his back so she could place his hand on her belly. "_We _need you home, too."

Dessie squeezed his eyes shut as her words soaked in. For the first time in his life, he was realizing it wasn't just about him anymore.

"Okay," he said. "I won't go to the bank with 'em, and I'll put Kieran in charge of runnin' the ground. Once we get word they're back in Forkhill with no problems, then we'll head over there. In the morn', I will need ya to get in contact with Misha because I wanna snag Jimmy's shipment of AK's this month if we can."

Catherine thanked him in Irish, to which he chuckled. She was slowly picking up the language, though not as fast as he hoped she would.

"You've vacation days saved up at the garage, yeah?"

"Aye, but I wanted to keep 'em to use in October when you have the baby. Why? What are you thinkin'?"

Resting her chin on his shoulder, she could feel the wave of anxiety for the future rocking her insides. "Once Jimmy finds out ONH is off the ground without him and it was us who stole the Russian pipeline, we may need to make a run for the Republic."

"There's no need for you to be worryin' your gorgeous self over that. Jimmy'll be long gone before the Kings even have a chance to realize what happened."

"Promise?"

Dessie turned his head and kissed her forehead. "I promise."


	69. Glasgow Smile

**April 2009 **

When news broke that over twenty-six million pounds were stolen from the Northern Bank in Belfast, Catherine had been casually scrolling through Twitter and Dessie was deep into a game of Call of Duty. Jimmy had been at home, where he threw the television remote at the wall breaking it into several chunks. All the while in Forkhill, five volunteers of Óglaigh na hÉireann were frantically separating the loot into athletic bags to be buried.

Everyone, whether directly involved or not, was flabbergasted by the amount taken. Catherine and Dessie never informed them just how much to take, and that failure landed on them. They were left with a massive problem on their shoulders. This was far too much money to properly launder, which meant they'd have no choice but to dump or burn a good chunk of it. They were also in a race against the clock to get the bills circulating, as the bank announced they'd be reissuing the stolen money with new designs and serial numbers.

If they didn't act by the time the cash was to be rendered useless, it all would have been for nothing.

Also, despite no organization taking responsibility for the heist, all government agencies involved with the investigation were quick to point the finger at the Irish Republican Army. The Kings having no prior knowledge as to what Dessie and Catherine were up to, released a statement to the media unequivocally denying they were behind it.

Jimmy was the only one who noticed the job had Catherine's signature all over it. For the time being, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Mainly because he was impressed _his_ Catherine orchestrated the largest bank robbery in British history. And he planned to sit back quietly and watch what the couple planned to do with the money.

A week later, the Kings summoned a meeting in Donegal with everyone who was in a position of leadership, where it was made clear if they found any members were involved, it would result in excommunication. As they had their asses dragged through the mud, Jimmy couldn't help noticing just how calm Dessie seemed.

There was one reason why Dessie was so calm: Catherine and Patrick were on their way to Dublin to fetch the shipment of AK's that Jimmy foolishly thought would be arriving in Dungloe the following morning. After years of planning, everything was starting to fall into place.

After the meeting, Dessie made the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to Forkhill. In the barn, he found Catherine and Patrick assembling the guns, whose parts were strewn in three crates.

"How'd it go with the Kings?" Patrick asked, handing-off a rifle to his daughter.

Dessie smiled as he lit the cigarette tucked into the corner of his mouth. "They don't have a fuckin' clue. Got the Real army pointin' finger at the True army, and the True army pointin' finger at the Real army."

"I reached out to Ian for an update on the investigation. He said the coppers don't even know where to start. But we need to be careful puttin' those bills into legitimate businesses because they've told banks to contact them if they come across the serial numbers. I also spoke with the financial advisor in Cork the Continuity lads use and he said we should invest what we can't launder – buy real estate, cars, the lot," said Catherine.

"That's what Jimmy does," Patrick pointed out. "Why do you think he's got a fancy new car every goddamn year while the rest of us are drivin' beaters."

"That's why I bought my house in Belfast. Jimmy gave me the money because he needed to hide assets from the tax-man."

"Remember that house you fell in love with? You were bummed it was for sale, not to let?" Dessie refreshed Catherine's memory. She nodded, and he goofily smiled. "We haven't signed the lease yet on the other place, so we'll invest our cut into the house. Once Kieran gets as much of the bills as he can transferred into American dollars, we'll get you that SUV you've been eyein', too. So you have more room for the three wee shites. Don't ever say I never bought ya anythin'."

Catherine stuck her tongue out at him as she popped the loaded magazine into the rifle and pulled the slide back to chamber a round.

"Mother'a Christ, that was fuckin' sexy," Dessie purred, slipping his sunglasses onto the top of his head. "Do it again for me, baby."

Patrick asked Catherine, "Can I shoot him?"

She handed her father the loaded AK-47. "Go for it."

Perching it on the front of his shoulder, Patrick closed his left eye as he peered through the sight. He pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession, the hollow point bullets shooting through the thick wooden wall beside Dessie.

"I knew ya loved me too much to shoot me, old man."

"Don't push your luck, boyo."

"Since I let ya shoot at me, does this mean I get to start callin' you Da?"

Patrick gestured at the smirking Dessie as he looked at Catherine. "Of all the men in Norn Iron, ya choose this one to marry?" He turned back to Dessie. "Ya call me da, and I swear to God, I'll shoot ya in the nuts."

"Please don't," Catherine groaned. "Until I have at least one more wee baby with him, just slap him around. And, it could be a helluva lot worse—I could be marryin' Jimmy."

Patrick responded to the thought of Catherine marrying Jimmy by crossing himself.

Dessie flicked his cigarette, readjusting his stance slightly so he could be in a position to break out into a dead run if need be.

"It could be even worse than that. I could be a Protestant, Da."

"I'm gonna fuckin' kill you," was all Catherine heard before Patrick took off running behind Dessie out of the barn. Considering Patrick still had the rifle in his hand, Catherine knew Dessie would be fine…so long as she didn't hear gunshots.

* * *

After narrowly avoiding a beat down and being shot in the back by Patrick, Dessie strolled out of the farmhouse with a duffle of ammunition slung over his shoulder. Catherine was behind him, carrying a rifle in each of her hands. Patrick was already outside, stapling targets to tree stumps.

"This is only what…the second time we've ever done target practice together?"

"Aye," Catherine said, thinking back. "You claimed your skills were too advanced for me so you had Kieran work with me instead."

"Did I really say that?" Dessie wondered, and she nodded. "Goddamn, I was an arrogant prick."

_Yeah_, Catherine thought. Was.

When they reached the remote spot on the farm the south Armagh crew liked to use for target practice, Dessie dropped the bag on the ground. Catherine gently set their rifles beside Patrick's, reaching into the back pocket of her jeans for a pair of hot pink foam earplugs. She put one in, then took out another pair and held them out to Dessie.

He politely declined. Not on the grounds of them being pink, but because he didn't like the feeling of having something stuffed in his ears. It was then Catherine learned for the first time he never once, in the quarter-century Dessie's been active in the Ra, used any sort of ear protection while firing guns and mortars.

"So you're not bein' a dick when you ignore me. You straight-up can't hear a bloody thing because you've blown out your eardrums."

"What?" he asked looking up at her, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"When you ignore me, it's because ya literally can't hear."

"What?" This time he couldn't hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Catherine felt slightly ashamed when she realized Dessie said "what" twice before she caught on that he was messing with her. Since he was squatting down to empty the bag of loaded magazines, Catherine playfully shoved him to the ground.

The flirty horsing around came to an abrupt end when Patrick came back from putting up the targets. They each grabbed a rifle, and Dessie held it in position.

"Hey, Cate," he said looking through the sight. "Wanna see why they call me Eamonn Wright?"

Catherine watched as Dessie pulled the trigger, firing off several rounds. As he lowered the rifle, she bit her lip to suppress her laughter, but Patrick didn't even try to conceal his when none of the bullets pierced the target.

"Shut your hole. It's new hardware and it's windy! I'm better with an Armalite anyway."

* * *

**May 2009 – Belfast, Northern Ireland**

Catherine was on cloud nine as she picked up the wrapped gift off the passenger seat and got out of the car. She couldn't wait to see the look on Dessie's face when he tore into the box to find a light blue onesie inside. As badly as she wanted a little girl, she knew he'd be over the moon to be having a son. She also couldn't wait to see how he'd react to her suggestion on a name.

Desmond Daniel Dennehy, Jr.

She figured they would call him Danny for short.

Sauntering through the front gate, up the walkway, and to the door, Catherine was surprised to find the lights and television off once inside. His car was parked out front still. Maybe he walked down to a newsstand for smokes.

"Dess?" she called out, shucking off her shoes.

"In the kitchen."

His monotone response threw Catherine off. When he first got there, he'd been in such a good mood, excited to help her start packing. They were only two weeks away from closing on the house of Catherine's dreams, and four weeks away from tying the knot. Though he was slightly bummed he missed her milestone doctor's appointment the other day.

She wracked her brain trying to figure out what changed in the half-hour it took her to drop the boys off at Brien's flat in the Short Strand. Gently setting the gift on the steps, she decided she'd wait to give it to him until she figured out what was up.

As she secured her hair into a bun with the elastic she always wore around her wrist, Catherine headed into the kitchen.

"I'm too bloody tired to cook. What do ya say we get Indian takeaway from the wee place in Andyto-"

Catherine stopped dead in her tracks. Her stomach dropped at the same time her entire body began to tremble.

The kitchen was in disarray. A flower vase was shattered on the floor. Crushed pink carnations were scattered everywhere. Photos and takeaway menus had been knocked off the fridge.

Jimmy was sitting on the table, a neglected cigarette burning in the ashtray, and an unfinished glass of whiskey was beside him. Dessie was in a chair in the center of the room. His arms were twisted behind him; his wrists secure with a zip tie. His ankles were duct-taped to the legs of the chair.

When Dessie ruefully looked up at Catherine, the breath lodged in her throat at the sight of his face. On his left cheek, there was a cut so deep, the skin was flapping. The flesh surrounding it was puffy, with slight discoloration was already forming below his eye. Spotting the gun on the table, Catherine guessed Jimmy only managed to overpower Dessie by pistol-whipping him.

"Sit down," Jimmy ordered, kicking out a chair from the table.

Catherine kept her eyes fixated on Dessie. Despite the thunderous storm of anxiety and indignation raging within, he knew he had to keep cool. Catherine wasn't the type to be collected when shit hit the fan. She was responsive; she fed off other people's energy. Dessie needed her to stay calm and he knew she'd crack if he did, too.

"It's okay, Catherine," Dessie said gently.

The moment her name left his mouth, Jimmy jumped up from the table, punching Dessie in the nose. It was reprisal from the night Dessie beat Jimmy.

Catherine became hysterical the second and third time Jimmy popped him. On the fourth, she shouted at him to stop, darting forward and grabbing his wrist. Jimmy turned around, placing his hands on her shoulders. The fear of God instantly enveloped her when she saw the bloodthirsty flare in his eyes.

Dessie had been around enough death in his forty-two years of life to know what the ominous aura clinging heavily in the air meant. He prayed to God Jimmy would at least have the decency to tip off the police so Brien and the boys wouldn't walk in to find their beaten, mutilated bodies in the morning. He also prayed for his demise to come first, and for Catherine's to be quick. The thought of her enduring hours of purposefully drawn-out torture made him sick.

"You thought you could outsmart me, huh?" Jimmy snarled as he smacked Catherine across the head. "You're a foolish cunt if you think you can steal my contact and my guns and get away with it!"

Catherine's eyes went wide, the color draining from her face. How did he find out? They had been so careful not to leave any trace of it being them. The two Russian shipments they managed to take, they had one sent through Dublin and the other through Fenit in County Kerry.

He struck her again. And again. And again. She started walking backward to get away from him, but she stupidly only ended up cornering herself.

Dessie watched helplessly, his face bloodied, as Catherine put her arms up to defend herself against the sting of Jimmy's blows. He grew more and more agitated over his inability to do anything. He thrashed, twisting his wrists to break free of the zip tie, but that only made it bite painfully into his wrists.

"I didn't steal shite from you, because Misha was never your contact. He's mine!"

Jimmy forced Catherine into the chair he kicked out earlier. He placed his hand on the table, the other on the back of the chair. This move boxed her in and obstructed Dessie's view of her.

"I found him, I flew to Moscow, I negotiated the deal!"

Catherine couldn't believe just how delusional Jimmy was. He truly believed his web of deceitful lies was reality. All she could do was shake her head.

"You know that's not true," she said. "I did all the leg work, and you came to Moscow with me only to step in, in case the deal started to fall apart. The only reason you're half as cross as you are is because you're embarrassed, Jimmy. You look like a fuckin' fool for losin' those shipments."

Dessie saw Jimmy raise his hand, and he yelled at him not to touch her. When he heard Catherine shriek along with the sharp crack of his fist colliding with her face, Dessie screamed at the top of his lungs.

Jimmy grabbed the collar of her cardigan. "Where are my guns, Catherine?"

"I've no idea! It wasn't me and Dessie who took 'em!" Her voice was shaky and lace with fear.

His voice grew louder. "Where are my guns?"

"I don't know!"

"Where are my-"

"I don't fuckin' know!" she screamed, tears streaming down her cheeks, stinging the laceration below her eye as they mixed with the blood pouring from the wound.

Her heart was pounding so hard Catherine was sure all of Belfast could hear it. She fixed her gaze upon his, refusing to break. She wouldn't allow him to terrorize her as he once had been able to. Instead of giving in to the beatings, Catherine was determined to fight until her last breath. As far as she was concerned, Jimmy was not walking out of her house knowing the location of the guns she and Dessie risked everything for.

"Fine," Jimmy said, raising his eyebrows. "I see that's how you wanna play it."

Letting go of Catherine's sweater, he pulled a utility knife out of his pocket as he started walking to Dessie. Lunging forward, she grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked.

"You leave him alone!"

More annoyed than anything, Jimmy reached back and grabbed Catherine by the forearm. Turning around, he shoved her to the ground. She fell hard onto the tile floor, choking back tears as a piercing pain shot up through her tailbone.

Seeing her go down like a ton of bricks sparked a white-hot anger Dessie never knew he was capable of. His face turned a deep red and the veins in his neck bulged. Burning hot tears exploded from his eyes.

"I swear to God, motherfucker, if you put another fuckin' hand on her and hurt her, I will gut you like a fish!"

Jimmy only chuckled. He rounded behind Dessie and grabbed a fistful of hair to pull his head back slightly. Retracting the blade from the utility knife, Jimmy looked at Catherine, who was still sitting on the floor.

"How about I give this piece of shite a wee Glasgow smile? Just like that deadbeat uncle of yours."

He placed the tip of the blade on the corner of Dessie's mouth.

Feeling the cool metal against his warm flesh, Dessie had to talk himself down. He hadn't felt this kind of terror since he was sixteen and a British soldier shoved the barrel of a rifle into his mouth, cracking his front tooth. This wasn't how it ends, Dessie told himself. He didn't make this far to be taken out by Jimmy O'Phelan.

"Please don't hurt him, Jimmy!" she begged. "Please, please, please, don't hurt him!"

"Tell me where my guns are."

Catherine never felt so weak in her life. She told herself not to give in to Jimmy, but that was before he was holding a knife to Dessie's face. All she could think to do was protect him.

"If I tell you," she hiccupped, "promise you won't hurt him?"

"Don't. Don't you dare, Catherine! You don't say a goddamn word to him!" Dessie knew it would all be over for her, for him, for the rest of Óglaigh na hÉireann if she told.

"God only knows what he gonna do to you if I-"

"Look at me," Dessie told her. Her bloodshot, bloated eyes met his. "I've always promised you everythin'll be okay, and for that to happen, you cannot tell him a single thing. No matter what happens to me, you stay strong." It made him start to cry, watching her break down. "You're so fuckin' strong, Catherine…you're gonna be okay."

He wanted to remind her how much he loves her, but Dessie wasn't ready for the goodbye just yet.

"Catherine," Jimmy got her attention. "Where are my guns? You tell me where they are, I promise I won't hurt him."

Her eyes didn't move from Dessie's as she spoke. "…I don't know."

Without warning, Jimmy sliced deep into Dessie's right cheek. As the blade dragged in a straight line, his ivory flesh burst open. Rich red blood flooded down his jaw and neck, soaking the collar of his shirt only after Jimmy finished.

Dessie's adrenaline was running so high from seeing Catherine pushed to the ground, it took him a second or two to even realize what even happened. He had barely felt a thing, except for the burning sting. It wasn't until he heard Catherine's bloodcurdling scream did it overwhelmingly throb.

His hand still gripping Dessie's hair at the roots, Jimmy tilted his head to the side and placed the blade on the other cheek and started to slice again.

Catherine knew it was a stupid move, but once she got back up on her feet, she reached for the blade. As her hand closed around it, it cut her fingers. "Stop, Jimmy!"

She only managed to wrestle it out of Jimmy's hand because he hadn't expected her to reach for the knife. There was a quick struggle as he fought to get it back, but when it fell on the floor she kicked it under the refrigerator.

As she turned around to go for the block on the counter where she kept the steak knives, Jimmy reached out and grabbed the bun coming loose from the elastic. He yanked back, making her lose her footing for a second. Rag-dolling Catherine, he smashed her face into the corner of the doorway.

Disoriented, Catherine stopped fighting back when he slammed her back against the wall. His fingers clamped down on the pressure points in her neck, severely decreasing her oxygen supply. She blinked slowly, seeing stars floating around Jimmy's head, and the pressure building behind her eyes.

"Where are my guns, Dessie?" Jimmy demanded. He was changing tactics.

"Fuck you," he spat.

The harder Jimmy pressed on Catherine's neck, the haunting sound of her choking for every breath became louder.

Dessie squeezed his eyes shut, again twisting his ankles to try and break the tape. The zip tie was cutting so badly into his wrists his hands were tingling with numbness. When he opened his eyes, that's when he saw it.

He called out, "Bord."

Catherine and Jimmy looked to the table at the same time. That's when the scramble began. Jimmy dropped his hands from her neck, but she had the advantage. She kneed him hard in the groin, pushing him away and grabbing the pistol.

Her hands were so shaky she didn't trust her ability to aim. The last thing she needed was to shoot at him and miss. That would only piss him off, even more, then give him time to wrestle the piece out of her hands.

Tightly gripping the barrel, Catherine swung as hard as she should. The heavy butt collided with his soft temple. She swung again, and he hit the floor, out cold.

Not wasting a second, she tucked the pistol into her waistband while stepping over his unconscious body. From the knife block, she grabbed one before dashing over to Dessie to cut him free.

Pulling the dishtowel off the handle of the oven, she balled it up and pressed it to the worst of his cuts.

"We gotta get the boys," he said, holding the bloodied towel.

Catherine nodded, prepared for exactly this. She bolted up the stairs for the two athletic bags under her bed, which were packed and ready to go.


	70. Camp Counselor Dennehy

**Forkhill, Northern Ireland **

"You had him right there, knocked out on the floor, and ya didn't bloody shoot him? Hell's the matter with ya?"

Shame seeped into her bones as Patrick dig deeper into his lecture. He ran a hand over the top of his head, trying to make sense of her thinking.

She sat still on a barstool at the breakfast bar as Owen McVeigh carefully placed a butterfly bandage over the cut on her forehead. Catherine looked up at the young paramedic from Dundalk, a foreboding smirk on her face.

"I know the rules, Caitie," Owen assured.

She knew she could trust him, she just liked to watch him squirm sometimes. The youngest son of a Provo commander, Owen more than understood anything he heard on an off-the-clock call was to never be repeated.

"I was more focused on cuttin' Dessie loose and gettin' outta there. I know I fucked up so spare me the lecture, will ya?"

Patrick could tell Catherine was on edge so he decided to back off. He could also tell she was still having a hard time catching her breath. "Make sure ya check her blood pressure there, Owen."

Catherine rolled her eyes.

"Dessie already told me to," he said, not breaking his concentration on lining up the other butterfly bandage on her nose.

She rolled her eyes again. Having Patrick and Dessie all over her about relaxing was having the opposite effect. She has never been more stressed in her life. Though she knew they only meant well, so it was hard to be mad at them.

"How's he doin'?" Catherine asked. Owen stopped blotting the last cut below her eye with saline, looking at Patrick. She knew he was looking to him for whether or not to answer. "Don't look at him, I'm the one who asked - give it to me straight. I'm a big girl."

"Thankfully nothin' in his face is broke. With all considered, it doesn't look as bad as it could've. He knew his name, where he was, what happened. He was a little slow followin' my finger, but his pupils reacted normally to light. I'm not a doc but I do think he has a wee concussion. Just keep an eye on him. He'll be in a fair amount of pain, so also watch him with the booze and pills...you know how he gets."

Inhaling sharply, she nodded. "Aye. Thinks he's bloody invincible."

* * *

Catherine set a white teapot in the center of the dining table, slipping into a chair between her father and Seamus Doherty. Patrick reached out for the porcelain pot to fill Catherine's mug. She softly thanked him, tugging her pink knitted sweater tighter around her torso.

Stirring a heaping spoonful of sugar into the golden liquid, Catherine looked around the table at the five men who made up the Army Council of Ogleigh na hEireann. In total there were seven of them, with Dessie being elected chief of staff. It ruffled south Armagh feathers when he chose Catherine as his adjutant, thus making her second in command.

She didn't see what the big deal was when in reality her job was nothing more than a glorified assistant. While Dessie was at work, she answered his burner and wrote down messages, also scheduling his meetings. The way Catherine saw it, if any of the south Armagh volunteers wanted to take control of the appointment book, she'd gladly hand it over along with the title.

Two weeks away from reaching the halfway point of her pregnancy, Catherine was more focused on getting her and the boys out of Belfast and settled into Crossmaglen. She was content enough being part of the twelve-member Army Executive, which only met twice a year.

Schoolyard bullshit was the last thing she needed.

There was one man strategically missing from the emergency meeting Dessie called. Not a lick of information had come up about any man called Martin O'Neill who owned a construction company as Rory claimed. He was being kept at arms distance, but not too much because they didn't want him suspecting they were on to him while they built a case. Dessie already figured out who was going to fill the intelligence officers' chair in the council once Rory was taken care of.

Exhaling smoke from his nostrils, Dessie crushed his cigarette. He was trying hard to keep the right side of his face turned away, but sitting at the head of the table made that fairly difficult. Catherine's heart sank into her stomach every time she saw the fifteen sutures it had taken to close up Jimmy's attempt at a Glasgow smile. His left cheek was sutured too, from the pistol-whipping he took.

She had tried talking him out of staying in Northern Ireland and heading to the Republic for the weekend, but he refused. He wasn't going to leave his home because Jimmy O'Phelan was having a temper tantrum.

"It's time we officially separate ourselves from the True army and the Kings...make it clear the council of Oglaigh na hEireann is the only lawful council of the Irish Republican Army," Dessie said.

His tone was so cold, it sent chills down their spines.

"We do that, it puts an even bigger target on all our backs, Dessie," Catherine spoke out. "What he did to us was only the beginnin'. Jimmy won't stop until we're all dead. We're lucky we even got out of Belfast alive."

Dessie locked eyes with Catherine as he took another nip from the glass of Tullamore Dew. He was more than halfway to being drunk, which she wasn't too thrilled about considering he had drowned a handful of Percocet not too long ago.

"If we're not gonna claim legitimacy as the rightful army, then what's the point of all of this?" Connor spat at Catherine.

Catherine cursed her hormones as she could feel the tears starting to pound behind her eyes.

"It's too soon! That's what I've been tryin' to tell youse, but you south Armagh blokes won't fuckin' grasp it. Jimmy is a force to be reckoned with."

"She's right," Seamus jumped in. "Whether youse like it or not, she is. Jimmy doesn't believe in the diplomatic approach. He keeps order and control in Belfast not with respect, but with fear. Both Jimmy and the Kings need to be dealt with before we can stake a claim. We all remember how bloody the transition was when we and the Real army split from the Provisionals - let's not make those mistakes again."

Kieran snorted and pointed to Catherine. "If you're so scared of him, why'd ya fuck him?"

Patrick slammed his hand on the table, not taking too kindly to how his daughter was being spoken to. Catherine, on the verge of tears, looked up at Dessie for back up, but he stayed silent.

Pointing his finger at Kieran, Patrick handed out a stern warning. "If I were you, I'd watch the way you speak to her."

"So she's a big enough girl to be sittin' at the table with the big boys, but she's off-limits to the truth. Is that how it's gonna be?" Kieran asked.

"Shut your fuckin' mouth. You've been livin' your wee easy life down here while we put our arses on the line every goddamn day! Without Catherine, there'd be no money fundin' the cause," argued Seamus.

"Wee easy life?" Connor laughed. "You bastards are the ones who have it easy! Without us smugglin' the smokes, there wouldn't be any money for youse to buy guns with! Up until two fuckin' years ago, we were fightin' the Brits from every direction down here." He turned his attention to Catherine. "Christ, while Dessie was busy shootin' down helicopters, you were busily shaggin' your way to the top."

Catherine snapped. She jumped to her feet, placing her hands on the table. "Oh, go fuck yourself. Dessie was only able to shoot down those helicopters because I was the one who traveled to Russia and smuggled in the DShK! I even got the surface-to-air missiles that youse wanted as well, but were too big of pussies to use, so the Kings decommissioned 'em!"

"We didn't puss out!" Kieran defended, standing up as well. "We were bloody told by the Kings not to engage the SAM's! If it were up to us, we would've used 'em!"

Patrick glanced over at Dessie, who was sitting back in his chair smoking as he sipped whiskey just watching Catherine, Seamus, Connor, and Kieran shout at each other across the table. At first, Patrick was fired up that Dessie would let his men speak to Catherine the way they were, but it quickly became apparent why he wasn't intervening.

Dessie was done playing peacemaker between the Belfast and south Armagh brigades. If ONH was going to function as one cohesive organization, the personal grievances they felt towards one another needed to be dealt with. It was only a matter of time before this happened. The way Dessie saw it, better now than in ten years when resentment and bitterness brought them down. Just as it did to the Provos and was doing now to the True army.

He didn't believe in the idea of suffering in silence. They were better off screaming and yelling at one another, because at least then they were being heard. Problems can't be fixed if no one knows there even is one.

"Ya wanna know somethin' else, gobshites? INTERPOL issued a green notice for me and that didn't happen by shaggin' my way to the top!" Catherine exclaimed.

"It happened because -"

"Enough!" Dessie bellowed, startling them. His gaze ping-ponging between the four. "Bloody children, the lot. I've only seen this kind of behavior from Eamonn and Sean, and that's because they're five and six." He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Sit your fuckin' arses down."

Not another word was said as Catherine, Seamus, Kieran, and Connor slowly eased back into their chairs. Catherine dropped her head, feeling mildly mortified. He was right - they sank to the level of primary school children.

Dessie straightened out in the chair and lit a cigarette.

"Jimmy O'Phelan didn't just go after me, he attacked my wife...my pregnant wife. I have to protect not only my family, but my men, too, and I will not sit around like some fuckin' half-wit while that sneaky fuck plans his next strike. As of right now, our only focus is puttin' Jimmy and the Kings in the ground. It's gotta be fast and brutal - fuckin' blitzkrieg."

"Blitzkrieg?" Connor asked, raising his eyebrows. "I think you're playin' too much Call of Duty there, Dess."

"Fuck off. The point is, we need to act faster than them. For that to happen, we all need to be on common ground. Can't be bickerin' with one another. Do I need to bring youse on some goddamn retreat in the woods where we do trust exercises and sit around a fire, passin' around a stick as we talk about our feelings?"

The five of them broke out laughing.

"That sounds oddly specific," Catherine noted.

Kieran was the only one to put the puzzle pieces together. "Oh, shite! That's what Eilish dragged ya out to Cork for, innit?"

Dessie was too embarrassed to outright admit his ex-wife had forced him into marriage counseling. He just pointed his finger to Catherine, getting defensive when he didn't need to be. "It was a complete waste of money and time, and I'm never doin' it again so don't get ideas."

They all just started laughing harder.

Catherine put her hands up. "Besides, what would an IRA trust exercise be?"

"I was gonna separate youse into two holes...Belfast on one side of a field, south Armagh on the other. Then youse hurl grenades at one another, hopin' the other didn't pull the pin."

"You seriously considered this, didn't ya?" Catherine snickered. "Look, lads, we've Camp Counselor Dennehy over here!"

Dessie pinched the bridge of his nose again as the others started up with their smart-ass remarks, too. He guessed he didn't have much to complain about. Because for as long as they were making fun of him, they weren't at each other's throats. Maybe now they could finally get some fucking work done.

* * *

"This is bullshite!" Dessie groaned, flopping onto the bed. "All I wanna do is take a goddamn shower but I can't even fuckin' do that because I can't get me face wet."

Laying on her side next to him, Catherine supported her head in her left hand. She suggested, "I can give you a bath."

"Only if I can have playtime."

He rolled over to face her. A mischievous smirk was plastered on his face.

"Why do I a wee feelin' your playtime includes me naked in the tub with you?"

"Because I'm a perv and I can't keep me hands off ya?" he guessed.

"Aye," Catherine giggled. She circled her hand over her belly. At eighteen weeks she was starting to take shape. "Exhibit A. However, give it a few more weeks and you most certainly will be able to keep your hands off me."

"Catch yourself on. Why the hell would ya say that?"

Catherine froze, having not expected that reaction from Dessie. She stammered, "It's just...Darragh - he...when I was pregnant with the boys, I could tell he lost interest. Don't get me wrong, he was very attentive and always there to help me, but he wouldn't touch me when my belly started to get big. Especially with Sean. Can't blame him, because I still carryin' all the weight I gained with Eamonn."

"Darragh was a stupid boy," Dessie said. "You were a bleedin' stunner; really filled out."

"I was not a stunner. I gained like four stone through both pregnancies."

"Aye," he chuckled. "Ya were a wee pudger, but Mother'a Christ. When we were at Mass for Sean's baptism, I was literally on me knees prayin' for my chub to away before Communion because you were lookin' so fuckin' sexy. I was waistbandin' half the goddamn day."

"Nuh-uh! You're full of shite."

Dessie pushed Catherine onto her back and climbed on top of her. He held the side of her neck. He couldn't believe she was talking such nonsense, and he couldn't believe he was hearing how Darragh made her feel anything but enticing during such a transformative time in life.

"I don't care how crass it makes me sound, but I'm in heaven watchin' you grow bigger and bigger every day with our baby, Catherine. Your body deserves to be worshiped for what it's goin' through. I haven't been able to keep my hands off ya since we started datin', and I still won't be able to in five months when you're all swollen and bloated...and fuckin' psycho."

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." Catherine smiled. She lifted her head, gently kissing his mouth. She was terrified of hurting him. "How are ya feelin'?"

"Since the Percs kicked in, I'm feelin' pretty damn good." He took a deep breath, looking away from Catherine as he spoke. "I can't get it out of my damn head, though. It's like a horror film playin' over and over, and it won't stop."

"I'm sorry for what he did to you. It never would have happened if I didn't ask you to-"

"Don't apologize for what he did, or blame yourself. I knew it was comin' the moment I decided to steal the shipment. I can take whatever it is he wants to do to me, but when he starts knockin' you around..."

Catherine brushed it off. "Don't get too worked up over it. That was tame compared to what he's done in the past."

Feeling the raw fury radiating off of him, she realized she probably should have kept her mouth shut.

"A man is supposed to protect his woman. I didn't do that."

"There was nothin' you could've done. He had you tied up."

"If I had gone with you to your brother's, this never would've happened. I let my guard down...fecker clobbered me as I was comin' out of the toilet."

"He's a wee shite. He waits until you're at your most vulnerable then strikes. We have to be on our A-game at all times now." Catherine paused, unable to hold back her tears. Her voice grew thick, strangled with torment. "I'm so scared for the boys, Dessie. What if he tries somethin' with Eamonn?"

Dessie hadn't even thought of that possibility. The worst part was, he felt Catherine's fear was bona fide. Jimmy was on the warpath to destroy her in any way he possibly could. Taking Eamonn and vanishing would be the easiest way to make that happen.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Dessie then maneuvered himself so his back was resting on the headboard. She settled between his legs, coiling hers with his. He crossed one arm over her chest; placed a hand on her belly.

"I know my word probably means shite after what I let happen to you, but you can be damn sure he'll never lay a finger on your boys."

Catherine rested the back of her head in the crook of his neck and shook it.

"Our boys," she said. "They're just as much yours as they are mine. They love ya, more than you think. And they idolize the hell outta ya, so they do." She placed her hand over the one he had resting on her belly. "And this wee boy, he'll worship the ground you walk on."

Dessie was too busy getting lost in the comforting honey and almond scent of her hair to comprehend what Catherine said.

"Wait, what? What did you say?"

Catherine chuckled. She turned around and propped up on her knees in front of him. Grabbing his hand, she placed it on her belly again. "I said, this wee boy will worship the ground you walk on."

Dessie was at a loss for words as he soaked it all in. Catherine watched as his eyes filled with tears and he lit up brighter than Christmas morning. It broke her heart when he tried to smile, only for it to quickly drop because the movement irritated the sutures.

"We're havin' a boy?" he asked, barely over a whisper.

She nodded and without warning, he tackled her into a hug. They both fell onto the mattress as he smothered her face in kisses.

* * *

**Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

Swearing under her breath, Catherine nearly tore apart Dessie's flat looking for the left gym shoe Sean had managed to lose in a matter of five minutes. It was a new record, and she'd be lying if she said she wasn't impressed with her son's ability to make things just disappear.

Dessie was in the Republic for the day doing God knows what. When he left Forkhill in the early morning, he hadn't told her what the plans were, and she figured that was for the best. The less she knew the better.

To keep life seeming normal for the boys, Catherine decided to meet up with Kieran's wife Hannah at the small playground in town so Eamonn and Sean could play with their middle son who was around the same age.

Sweeping her hand under the couch for the third time, coming up with nothing again, Catherine rested back on her ankles. She crossed herself then folded her interlocked hands, quickly muttering,

"Saint Anthony, please come around, somethin' is lost and it cannot be found."

"I found it!" squealed Eamonn as he came running into the living room.

She had a mini heart attack as her eldest boy cocked the ADIDAS shoe back and chucked it at his brother, who was sitting on the floor. Thankfully it landed short, not hitting Sean in the face as she predicted it would.

"Where was it?" she asked.

"In the toilet!"

Catherine placed her hands on her hips, glaring at Sean in confusion as he put the shoe on. "What would possess ya to bring it into the toilet with you?"

"I couldn't remember how to tie it! Dessie said that's where he does his best thinkin' so I thought it would help me, too."

Catherine buried her face in her hands. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

"See, it worked!" Sean exclaimed, proud of the knot he tied.

Standing up, Catherine picked up the tiny zip-up sweatshirt off the couch and helped Sean into it. "You'll have to tell that to Dessie when he gets home. I can assure ya he'll be proud."

After helping Eamonn with his zipper, Catherine grabbed her keys and opened the front door. She came face-to-face with the last person she ever thought she'd see at her doorstep.

Fiona.


	71. Na Trioblóidí

**Republic of Ireland**

Dessie and Kieran were just south of Dublin on their journey to Limerick by the time the sun fully broke through the horizon. They sat in silence for the most part, with Dessie concentrating on the road, and Kieran occasionally fiddling with the radio. Residual tension from the night before was still palpable, making for an uncomfortable drive.

Putting on his sunglasses, Dessie briefly glanced at Kieran. He had purposefully asked his operations officer and not Catherine to make the trip with him. They needed to clear the air - just the two of them.

Dessie was never one to be delicate, no matter how sensitive the subject matter was. He rolled down his window and lit a cigarette.

"This fuckin' problem with Cate all of a sudden... what's the deal?"

Kieran lit a smoke, too, surprised it had taken Dessie almost a hundred miles to bring it up. He'd been expecting the question from the moment they get in the car. There were two options: tiptoe around the truth and risk irritating Dessie more, or be honest and get it out of the way.

Kieran chose the latter.

"It's complicated. I've got nothin' against her as a person or as a volunteer when she was in Belfast. Just don't think she's a good fit for leadership down here."

"I'm not followin' ya there, mate."

Taking a long drag from his smoke, Kieran tried to formulate the best way to say it. "You, Paddy, Seamus, youse think her head is still in the cause, ya know? I'm not with ya on that; she's been workin' with Jimmy for way too long and she proved that last night. She completely disregarded all the progress we've made, only focused on how much product she and the lads've moved. She's thinkin' like a mafioso, not a soldier."

Dessie's left hand tightened around the steering wheel. His white knuckles didn't go unnoticed by Kieran and that response only emphasized his previous assertion that Catherine was immune from criticism. It annoyed the men under Dessie's command to see him so strung up over a woman, he refused to see her points of weakness.

"She's a brilliant soldier," defended Dessie. "She always has been and she always will."

Kieran flicked the cigarette out of the window, snapping back, "How many operations has she been on in twelve years? Don't get me wrong, she's as smart as a whip, but she's not Ra smart."

Dessie's heart began hammering against his ribs, and he could feel his cheeks start burning. Who the hell did Kieran think he was making such an accusation against Catherine?

"The fuck are ya talkin' about?"

Kieran shifted uncomfortably in the seat, his heart was now starting to race, too. The last thing he wanted to do was start a fight, especially when they were on their way to handle serious business. But Dessie needed to open his eyes and look three feet in front of him.

"Answer the goddamn question, Dess. And her helpin' us move smokes from Dublin to Forkhill or her callin' in a warnin' for a bomb doesn't fuckin' count. How many times has she been on the ground with an Armalite in her hand?"

"Fifteen...twenty, maybe. And a majority of 'em were with us when we needed the help." The words tasted sour as Dessie spoke.

"My point. What happened in October? Jimmy told her to stand down and she went after the shipment anyway because she didn't wanna lose the money. Even you knew it was a mistake - any good commander would've let it go and dealt with the ones responsible. She almost got us fuckin' killed over somethin' that's easily replaceable."

"She only did that beca-"

"Stop fuckin' defendin' her! Jesus Christ. Four years ago, ya demoted Siobhan for no good reason, and never brought her back as an officer. Catherine deserved her demotion and what did you do? Turned around, makin' her your fuckin' adjutant."

Dessie lit another cigarette right after ditching the first. He was trying not to lose his temper. "Siobhan isn't officer material and Catherine is. She deserves to be adjutant be for me or Jimmy."

"So, if it were me suckin' your cock, would I've gotten the job then?"

Dessie couldn't stop himself bursting out into a fit of laughter at how the conversation had taken a different turn. "You can't be serious."

Kieran grew furious, not appreciating the fact he was being patronized. "That position was mine and you know it. Twenty years I've given you, and keepin' me in the same position for ONH is how you recognize all the work I've done?"

Dessie tossed his half-smoke cigarette out and rolled up the window. With his hand now free, he pulled at the strap of his belt, unbuckling it, along with unsnapping the button of his jeans. "You want the job, then blow me. But know you'd be the one gettin' it for suckin' me off, not Catherine."

"Fuck you," Kieran said, getting the point. "This is a fuckin' waste of time because you're not even listenin'. You don't give a shite about the men who've worked their arses off and proved 'emselves. You got chief of staff, so why should ya give a shite..."

Now Dessie felt like a real ass. He had always prided himself on being the one commander who kept tensions to a minimum by making all volunteers feel they were being heard. The opposite was happening now and that was never his intention. He cared about all the men under his command, whether they were officers or rank-and-file.

Taking a breath, Dessie tried to see through his vexation. "What do _you _think should happen then? What would make you and the lads feel more at ease about the situation?"

Kieran was taken by surprise, not having expected such a response.

"Gotta separate your sex life from the Ra - put your bias aside. The lads are ragin' ya chose Catherine as adjutant and not one of us. You need to make that right, Dessie."

"Aye," he breathed. "I suppose I do."

Upshifting as he sped down the deserted motorway, Dessie realized a pissed off wife was easier to handle than a coup.

* * *

**Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland**

Fiona had come with an agenda.

She spent the entire hour's drive rehearsing what she planned on telling Catherine. Nonetheless, it all went forgotten once the front door opened and Fiona saw her.

So here she was, forty miles from home, sitting at a dingy kitchen table across from the woman who had an illegitimate son with the man she's been living with for the last fifteen years. They sipped tea and ate a sausage roll as if all's well.

With their deep-seated history rich with betrayal, they didn't pretend to like one another. Catherine and Fiona were mature enough to be civil, not wanting to make anyone in the family feel as though they needed to take sides. Seeing each other when obligated resulted in small-talk, mainly about the weather, their children. But the last time Fiona stopped by for a surprise visit was still fresh in Catherine's mind and that put her on edge.

"I don't mean to be rude, Fi," Catherine said, finally breaking the silence. "But what are ya doin' here?"

Straightening up, Fiona wiped the pastry crumbs off her fingers with the napkin tucked halfway underneath her mug. It was hard for her to look at Catherine, knowing full well Jimmy had been the one to bust her face.

"Believe it or not, if I would've known what he was up to when he left the house, I would've warned you."

"I don't need your pity."

Fiona took a moment to calm herself before she snapped back at Catherine. This trip was about dousing the flames which were burning the bridge of their relationship, not adding more fuel.

"Whether you wanna admit it or not, we're more alike than you think, Catherine. We both joined the Ra because we thought that's what we were supposed to do. We each fell deeply in love with and lost a man in the cause. And we both let Jimmy poison our lives. The difference? You dared to leave him - I don't."

Catherine pushed her half-eaten sausage roll to the side, having lost her appetite. She didn't see it the same way as Fiona.

"I only ended it because Darragh came along and he was my safety net."

"You're not givin' yourself enough credit, lovey. He's been gone almost five years now and ya never went back to Jimmy even though ya knew he'd take care of ya and the boys."

Catherine shrugged.

Reaching into her tote bag, Fiona took out a stack of papers and handed it to Catherine. "These are photocopies; I found the originals sittin' on Jimmy's desk the other night. What he did to Filip, he's plannin' to do the exact thing to Dessie."

As Catherine thumbed through them, she thought she was going to be sick. She became lightheaded when she realized it was a summons for Dessie to appear in front of a True Army court-martial.

The last page was a letter, which almost made her burst into tears.

_Desmond Dennehy,_ it started. _The True Irish Republican Army hereby gives you seven days' notice from the date of this letter to leave the occupied six counties. If you wish to remain in Ireland, you must stay south of Dublin. Our reasons for putting you out of the occupied six counties are: insubordination, fraternisation with a subordinate, jeopardising IRA activities. After the seven days expire, an order of execution will be released if you are still residing within the six counties._

It was signed, P. O'Neill.

The letter was post-dated ten days before they were to be officially married.

"Jimmy saw Filip as a threat, and he sees Dessie in the same way. He already bought his guilty verdict," Fiona explained. "Just like Filip refused to leave Belfast, Dessie'll never leave Cross - it's who they are. This is Jimmy's twisted way of gettin' Dessie killed without it comin' back to bite him in the arse."

"I fuckin' hate him," whispered Catherine. The letter crumpled in her hands as she balled them into fists.

Fiona had never heard such abhorrence in Catherine's voice before.

"Ya need to tell Dessie what's goin' on, so he can strategize. With the Real army now part of the True, he can request they sit on the court instead of Jimmy's thugs. Maybe then it'll be a half-fair trial."

Regaining her composure, Catherine set the letter on the table and smoothed it out so she could read it over again. Even if Dessie was found guilty of insubordination, it wouldn't result in exile, only demotion. The fraternization charge wouldn't hold up because Catherine had still been an officer when she and Dessie hooked up in Dundalk. As for jeopardizing IRA activities, that no doubt stemmed from what happened in October.

If Jimmy were smart, he would have charged Dessie with stealing the shipment of AK's. She guessed he hadn't because he didn't have a lick of evidence connecting Dessie to the heist.

There was no way for Fiona to know what was going on inside Catherine's head, but she guessed Catherine had probably killed Jimmy thrice over. She did understand the rage Catherine was feeling, as she felt the same way when Filip was court-martialed over something he wasn't guilty of.

From her bag, she produced a folded, yellowing envelope. Inside were the photos Fiona found in Jimmy's ransacked office the day he was arrested and sent to Maghaberry.

"It's a petty move, but maybe if Dessie were to file the same fraternization charges against Jimmy, he'll drop it. There are two photos in there which'll prove you were a subordinate when your relationship with Jimmy started. I don't think he'd risk a demotion."

Catherine had no idea what Fiona was talking about, so she peeked inside. As soon as she saw her eighteen-year-old self smiling for the camera with Dessie's arm wrapped around her, she instantly closed the flap.

Those were the photos from Dessie's thirtieth birthday. A night where she and Jimmy had gotten so drunk, Catherine thought it would be a brilliant idea to document their lovemaking. She had completely forgotten about the existence of the photos until that very second.

"One more thing," Fiona added. In the center of the table, she set a MacBook and its charger down. "I'm not sure what the password is, but knowin' Jimmy it's gotta be somethin' to do with Pearse or Connolly. Maybe Eamonn's birthday."

Catherine just stared down at the laptop. There were so many questions sitting on the tip of her tongue. Jimmy never brought it home, always keeping it safely locked away to be sure no law enforcement ever got their hands on it. How the hell did Fiona manage to get near it, let alone swipe it?

But there was only one answer Catherine wanted.

"Why are you givin' me this shite?"

Fiona picked up her mug of tea and took a slow sip. As she softly set it down, she shrugged.

"I don't know what you and Dessie are up to, but I know it's somethin'. We all want freedom from Jimmy, and this is my way of helpin'."

"You hate me," Catherine blurted. "Why would you help me?"

Fiona's demeanor softened and her heart broke.

"You're my niece, Catherine. I love ya just as much as Filip does. You were practically a child when Jimmy dug his claws into ya, and I'd be a bitter hag for holdin' that against you. The situation is what I hate. I see so much of myself in you, and your relationship with Dessie reminds me of what I had with Filip. I wanna help because I don't wanna see what happened to me and Kerri, happen to you and the wee ones."

For once, Catherine didn't know what to say to Fiona. Their relationship has been so volatile she wasn't sure how to react to the act of kindness.

"What should I do?"

"As for you and Dessie, youse need to be a united front. Don't leave him to face this court-martial on his own. I made that mistake with Filip. And Jimmy...you know his strengths and weaknesses better than anyone else. You're smart, you'll figure it out."

* * *

Catherine was lying in bed with Toy Story humming quietly from the television. She ran her fingers through Eamonn's red hair, enjoying the peaceful moment with her boys. Sean curled up against her, his small hand placed right on her belly as he was determined to feel a kick from his little sibling.

They hadn't had the chance to tell Eamonn and Sean another boy was on the way but based on their reaction to when Catherine said it could be a girl, she had a feeling they'd be more excited than Dessie had been. It brought indescribable joy to see how thrilled they were for the new addition.

She tried desperately not to let Dessie's looming court-martial take away from what was supposed to be a jovial time in all their lives.

Hearing her phone buzz on the nightstand, Catherine picked it up and read the text from Dessie.

_Back in Forkhill_, it read. _I need you here._

Sighing in frustration, Catherine looked down at Eamonn and Sean. They were bathed, in their pajamas, and half-asleep tuckered out from their day at the playground.

She shot back unenthusiastically, _Be there in 30._

Grabbing the remote, Catherine paused the movie which earned her a symphony of groans from her tired boys.

"I'm sorry, but we gotta go to Forkhill for a wee bit."

"No!" Eamonn cried, burying his face into the crook of Catherine's neck. "It's so boring there."

She felt defeated, not wanting to drag them out when it was already way past their bedtime. Unlocking her phone, she sent Dessie another text message.

_Can it wait until the morning? The boys are exhausted and so am I._

Less than a minute later, her phone pinged again.

_It's not a request._

Under her breath, Catherine muttered, "Fuckin' arsehole."

* * *

It was nearly eleven when Catherine pulled up to the farmhouse in Forkhill. In the headlights, she saw Dessie and Connor jogging down the steps of the porch, flicking their cigarettes to the ground. Before she even had a chance to turn the engine off, Dessie opened the back door of the new SUV and started to unbuckle the sleeping Sean from his booster seat. Catherine got out to get Eamonn.

"You're late," he said, flatly.

Dessie's disgruntled expression told Catherine he wasn't in a good mood, but she didn't care, considering she wasn't cheery either. She figured his meeting with the chief of staff from the Continuity army hadn't gone well, though she didn't think it was fair he was taking his frustrations out on her.

"That's because I was wrestlin' two wee boys who are tired out of their minds for twenty goddamn minutes."

Dessie ignored Catherine as he held Sean and closed the car door. She bit her tongue as she helped Eamonn jump out.

They were all tired, which was exactly the reason Catherine wanted to wait until the morning. If they sat down and tried to have a discussion now, it would only end up in a screaming match as it had last night. They needed time to catch their breaths.

"Take 'em upstairs, yeah?" Dessie handed Sean off to Connor. "We shouldn't be too long."

Catherine could feel her irritation bubbling as she watched Connor herd Eamonn inside. She looked over at Dessie as he lit a cigarette.

"There better be a goddamn good reason why you're bein' such an arse right now."

Dessie blew out a cloud of smoke, only saying, "I'll meet you in the office; Kieran's already in there. Can you get me a whiskey?"

Jamming her hands into the pockets of her sweatshirt, Catherine walked up the porch steps. Over her shoulder, she shot back, "Get your own fuckin' whiskey."

Once the house, Catherine dropped her purse on the kitchen counter and made her way into Dessie's office. Sure enough, she found Kieran sitting in the leather armchair. As soon as he saw her, he jumped up to offer her the seat. He leaned against the wall as they waited in silence for Dessie.

After what was said last night, she wasn't eager to speak to Kieran so she didn't ask him what this was all about. By the way he had his arms crossed over his chest accompanied with his thousand-yard stare, Catherine guessed he didn't have much to say to her either.

When Dessie finally came strolling in, a glass of whiskey in hand, he closed the door and took a seat behind his desk.

"Care to explain why ya dragged me here so late?"

Drowning the whiskey in one pull, he cleared his throat.

"How are ya feelin' as adjutant?" asked Dessie.

Catherine eyed him suspiciously, unsure how to interpret it. He wouldn't be asking unless he felt she wasn't handling it well. Glancing up at Kieran, she wondered who was really wanting to know – him or Dessie.

"Brilliant. I've been doin' this for a lot of years, Dess, I know how to do my job."

"I'm not sayin' you don't. I just wanna be sure you're not gettin' overwhelmed. Two boys at home, another on the way, no ones gonna blame ya if you start gettin' a wee distracted."

Dessie was kicking himself for not coming into this with a plan of action. He figured he'd know exactly what to say once Catherine was sitting in front of him, but having Kieran there was putting him on edge. Confliction consumed him. He didn't want to be a dick towards her, but he also didn't want to be accused of giving her special treatment. He already felt terrible for being short with her earlier as his nerves were fried. No way could he tell her he was emotionally exhausted from having been piled on for the last two hours, his men demanding change.

"Do you think I'm distracted?"

Kieran jumped in, "That's not what he's sayin', either, he' just-"

"Shut your gob, Kieran," Catherine snapped. "I didn't bloody ask you. Do you think I'm distracted, Dessie?"

Dessie scratched at the stubble coming in along his cheek, careful not to irritate the still tender stitches. Although at this point, ripping the stitches out with his bare hands would probably be less painful than this conversation.

He wanted to just get it over with.

"Once you have the baby, I do think you'll be distracted. But it's not just about that. There's…concern that maybe your objectives for Óglaigh na hÉireann aren't in line with the rest of the lads."

"I'm confused. Is our objective not to unite Ireland by forcin' the end of British sovereignty in Northern Ireland through military strategy?"

Dessie stammered, "No – no, it is,"

"What's the bloody issue then?"

When Dessie peered up at Kieran, he could tell Dessie was close to losing to his nerve. He didn't have it in him to take the position away from Catherine, because he's wanted nothing more than to make her happy. Kieran lost a bit of respect for his chief of staff when he realized he needed to be the one to step up and lay it out plainly for her.

"None of us think your priority is the cause. All you care about is movin' the smokes and sellin' guns."

Catherine's attention turned away from Dessie and to Kieran. "My priority is movin' smokes and sellin' guns so the cause has financial backin'!"

"Then why are ya so against makin' the split of ONH from the True army public?" asked Dessie. "You're keepin' us from bein' operational and we're losin' valuable time."

"So that's what you think this about, huh? I'm not itchin' to bring back Na Trioblóidí so that means I don't believe in the objectives of the Irish Republican Army."

Dessie nodded. "Aye. We need an adjutant who falls in line with our views."

"This isn't the 1970's, Dessie! There's no reason to be destroyin' our home and terrorizin' our people when the Brits aren't even on the streets anymore!"

"They're still here!" Dessie shot up. The rise of voice and hardening of his tone started Catherine. "Until we're thirty-two counties, the IRA will do what it has to. If you don't believe in that, you're free to leave. But either way, I can't have you underminin' our objectives so effective immediately, Kieran will takin' over as adjutant, and I'm bringin' in another lad to take over operations."

Catherine recoiled as if she had been slapped. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. There was no way of really understanding why her blood was boiling as rapidly as it was. When she was chosen for the job in the first place, she hadn't even really wanted it, and she planned on stepping down after giving birth anyway. It wasn't so much being reassigned that upset her, it was Dessie standing there, telling her she didn't care about the cause when she sacrificed a fruitful future for it.

Dipping her head, Catherine squeezed her eyes shut. She wasn't going to cry. No way. Especially not in front of Kieran, who she knew had gotten into Dessie's ear.

It wasn't the money Catherine worried about losing from the ONH spit. She knew where Dessie's mind was. Like Darragh, he romanticized the past and she worried he would drag them back into the dark ages.

If this is the direction Dessie planned to go, she didn't want anything to do with it.

Standing up, she walked to the door and placed her hand on the handle. "Then please consider this my formal resignation from Óglaigh na hÉireann."

"Catherine!" Dessie called out as she walked out the door. "Don't be a brat!"

Closing the door behind her, Catherine wiped away her tears and bolted right for the kitchen. From her purse, she grabbed the copy of the court-martial summons, and letter Fiona had given her.

If he was going to blindside her, then she didn't see the point in returning the favor.

Without thinking, Catherine tore the pages to shreds.


	72. Coffee and a Scotch Egg

Dessie was wholly surprised when he pulled up in front of his building and saw Catherine's car parked. He fully expected her to head back to Belfast after she left Forkhill without so much as a goodbye. Not that he had expected one in the first place, and he knew full well there wouldn't be a warm welcome once he walked through the door.

Tucking his pack of smokes into the chest pocket of his unbuttoned flannel, Dessie then grabbed the paper bag sitting on the passenger seat and the takeaway coffee from the cup holder.

"Here goes nothin'," he breathed, getting out of his car.

When he made it up to the third floor and into his flat, Dessie found Catherine curled up in the far corner of the couch absently flipping through channels on the television. It sank his heart when she didn't even look over at him as he closed the door behind him. She was wearing a pair of his boxers and the tattered Sex Pistols t-shirt she claimed as her own. What made Dessie sigh in relief was seeing the diamond ring still on her finger.

Taking a seat on the couch next to her, he set the cup and bag on the table. "Coffee and a scotch egg...consider it a peace offerin'."

Catherine placed the television remote on the arm of the couch as she turned her head to look at Dessie. He was still wearing the same clothes as yesterday. His hair didn't show the slightest hint of bedhead, and by how he smelt strongly of beer and cigarette smoke she guessed he had spent the entire night at the pub. Dessie could tell she hadn't slept a wink either, with red-rimmed eyes behind her glasses. Not to mention the dark circles which stood out against her pale skin.

Truth was, Catherine was touched by his gesture. Unfortunately, the vexation she felt towards him clouded her better judgment. As she shed the knitted blanket from around her shoulders, Dessie thought it was good a sign when she leaned forward to snatch up his offering. When she got up and started walking towards the kitchen, he jumped up to follow her.

"So that's how it's gonna be?" he asked, watching Catherine toss the bag into the garbage before dumping the coffee down the sink. When she kept on ignoring him, that only irritated him more. "Why are you bein' a goddamn bitch about this?"

Catherine stopped dead in her tracks on the way to the fridge. She spun around and placed a hand on the counter. Dessie instantly cursed his impulsivity to point out she was acting like a bitch once he saw the infamous O'Toole temper start bubbling to the surface. Her raging hormones weren't helping to keep her calm either.

Maybe he should have stayed at the pub to drink the day away after all.

"So ya think I'm a bitch, huh?"

"Don't twist me words; I said you're actin' like a bitch. You're makin' this way more difficult than it needs to be."

"I'm not makin' shite difficult here. The only person who is, is you, Dessie."

"Bollocks. All I'm doin' is tryin' to make you and the lads happy. You can't be mad at me for givin' the position to Kieran when just two weeks ago ya told me ya weren't sure if you were gonna keep at it once Danny's born."

"Bloody hell you're a daft bastard, so ya are. Me not wantin' the position once I have Danny isn't the point. And if you can't see that, then I can't help you."

Catherine let go of the counter and started walking out of the kitchen. Realizing she was giving up on the conversation without even bothering to explain when he didn't understand what was going on in her head frustrated Dessie to his core. She didn't get to say this was all his fault then just walk away. He felt he deserved an explanation, just as much as she deserved one.

When she walked passed him, he thought fast. Not thinking anything of it, he grabbed her wrist to keep her from heading into the bedroom where Eamonn and Sean were still sleeping.

What Dessie didn't anticipate was what he perceived as a harmless act, lit a fuse of deep repression in Catherine. Once she felt his fingers curl around her wrist, she panicked. All she thought of were the countless times Jimmy had done that. Before Catherine could realize what she was doing, she forcefully backhanded Dessie right across his sutured cheek.

"Fuck!" he cried, letting go of her wrist. "Son-of-a-fuckin' hell!"

His entire face felt as if it had been struck by lightning. The pain was enough to bring Dessie to his knees, and he curled into a ball to hide the fact he was near tears. Each suture throbbed almost unbearably with the racing beats of his heart.

Catherine slapped her shaking hands over her mouth as she watched Dessie wither on the floor. She couldn't believe she did that. She knew better than to think he'd ever do anything maliciously as Jimmy had.

"What the fuck was that for?" His voice broke while the tears disobeyed him and started to slide down his cheeks.

Unable to find her voice, Catherine could only think to grab a bag of frozen veggies along with a towel. As she wrapped the bag up, Dessie moved so he was sitting with his back against the cabinet. He quickly wiped his tears away with the collar of his shirt, hoping she didn't notice his wet cheeks. Catherine straddled his lap, placing the makeshift ice pack gently on his sutures.

"I'm so sorry, Dessie. I-I didn't mean it; I swear I didn't! I dunno what happened...I got - when you grabbed me, it scared me!" She stroked his hair with her shaky fingers. "I'm so fuckin' sorry."

Seeing fat tears bubble in her dull blue eyes, hearing the way her voice trembled - the reality of the damage Jimmy had done to her was difficult for Dessie to comprehend until now. Catherine wasn't living her life, she was simply surviving, and now he understood how desperately she needed him in her corner. She was strong enough to defend herself, but sometimes she needed him to fight for her.

And last night when his men ganged up on her, he hadn't done that.

That was the point she'd been trying to make.

Taking the frozen bag out of her hand, Dessie tossed it on the floor. He wrapped one arm around her and wiped her tears away with the other hand.

"No, I'm sorry. You're right; you not wantin' the position in a few months isn't the point. I was too focused on makin' the lads happy, I didn't stop to think about whether it was fair to you. Since you told me you were maybe gonna step back to focus your time on Danny, Eamonn, and Sean, I honestly thought you'd be okay with it."

Catherine placed her hands on his shoulders. "Why do they hate me so much?"

"They don't...hate you," Dessie said delicately. "They're just unnerved by your relationship with Jimmy."

She shook her head in disbelief. She was so tired of her past coming back to haunt her when all she wanted to do was move on. At one point she figured south Armagh would far enough from Belfast for the ghosts not to follow her, and it twisted her to think she'd never be able to get away from it.

"They don't trust me, but they trust Rory?"

"Again, you're twistin' my words. I never said they don't trust you and believe me when I say Rory will be dealt with." For some reason, hearing Dessie say that sent a chill up Catherine's spine. "They think Jimmy's skewed your sense of the cause is all."

"And you think so, too. Or else you wouldn't have made the point to say you can't have me underminin' your objectives."

Dessie wished he could have a do-over of the entire night. To Catherine, he looked like an asshole incapable of caring about her. To his men, he looked like a weak, pussy-whipped leader.

"I said a lot of shite things last night. It's not an excuse, but I was just so fuckin' done with the bullshit I was gettin' from everyone. I really don't believe you're undermindin' me. As a commander, I've worked with a lot of volunteers who think like you. I get you don't want to see things go back to how they were, and its minds like yours that'll maintain balance. But ya gotta meet me halfway here."

"Doesn't matter anyway because I've formally resigned."

Dessie cheekily smiled, amused that Catherine was doubling down on her hasty decision. He wouldn't have expected anything less from her.

"Too bad for you, I'm not acceptin' your shite resignation. If you would have waited, instead of just leavin' like a brat, ya would've heard that I'm movin' your da to operations, Seamus to trainin', you to finance."

"You're not pushin' me out of leadership?"

"Absolutely not. The lads agreed that if Kieran took over as adjutant, they'd be fine with you dealin' with the business side of it. But in return, I need you to be willin' to compromise with 'em on operations."

Catherine thought she was going to implode under the weight of the guilt now crushing her shoulders. Dessie hadn't thrown her off to the side like she thought he had when she tore up the copy of his court-martial summons. If she told him what she did now, she knew there would be fireworks.

Just as he had made this situation right, Catherine had to do the same.

"Can you compromise with us on operations?" asked Dessie, pulling Catherine from her trance.

She nodded. It was the least she could do.

Dessie kissed her hard, sneaking his hands up _her _shirt to caress her curves. When Catherine kissed him back with less enthusiasm, Dessie pulled away and eyed her carefully.

"We okay?"

Swallowing the words she desperately wanted to tell him, Catherine nodded again. She leaned forward, wrapping her arms tightly around him. Nuzzling her face into the crook of his neck, she melted.

* * *

Ignoring her intuition was something Catherine didn't do regularly. This time, it was crippling guilt that kept her from going straight home to start packing as she promised Dessie she would. Catherine needed to do it fast because she knew the lad Dessie had assigned to keep an eye on her while she was in Belfast would soon realize she had snuck away after dropping the boys off at school.

Parking down the street from the pub in Newry, she grabbed her pocket knife from the center console and got out of her car. As she walked, she tucked the blade into the waistband of her jeans. There was a chance Jimmy's enforcers would pat her down before she could see him, but that was a chance Catherine was willing to take.

When she pulled open the door and took a single step inside, she wasn't greeted with the same warmth she once had been.

"What are you doin' here, O'Toole?"

Catherine strode to the bar, leaning against it in hopes of coming off casual and non-threatening. John had once been a close associate of hers, though their relationship quickly fell through the cracks when she started dating Dessie. Now the man eyed her suspiciously as he dried the heavy pint glasses.

"I just wanna talk with Jimmy. I'm not here to start trouble, I promise. Dessie isn't even with me."

He set down the small towel. The conflicted expression on John's face told Catherine he had probably been given orders by Jimmy to not let her in the joint. She had a trump card, and she felt like shit having to use it. If she didn't, she probably wouldn't get Jimmy to agree to see her.

"It's about Eamonn."

John nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

Hearing that was enough to take some of the weight off Catherine's shoulders. When John took off to go find Jimmy, she took a seat on one of the barstools. A couple of minutes later, Catherine felt defeated when she saw Donny walking back with John. Reaching around to her back where she had the blade resting, Catherine unclasped it from her waistband and quickly shoved it into her boot.

Seeing Donny made it obvious Jimmy planned on treating her as if she weren't even part of the True army anymore.

As John went back behind the bar to finish up his work, Donny crooked his finger at Catherine, a silent signal for her to follow him.

Donny walked several steps in front of Catherine as he led her into the back office Jimmy used when he wasn't in Belfast. He stopped in front of the door and gestured for Catherine to enter first. Stepping inside, she found Jimmy sitting behind the desk.

Donny closed the door behind her.

A smug grin was plastered to his face as he got up, closing the space between them. Catherine had to hide her arrogance when she noticed the sutures closing up the small wound on his temple from when she knocked him out with his own pistol.

"Spead 'em," he ordered, kicking her feet apart.

Catherine obliged, spreading her feet shoulder-width apart and putting her arms up. She focused on a spot on the wall when she felt Jimmy put his hands on her. His groping was deliberate, and when his hands slid from her breasts to her ass, she tried blocking it out. That proved to be harder than she anticipated as he moved to her inner-thighs, running his fingers along her denim-clad slit.

She reminded herself it was almost over once he knelt so he could pat down her legs.

Jimmy knew Catherine well enough to check her boots, and sure enough, there it was. Sliding the knife out of her Dr. Marten, he pocketed it for himself.

_Fucking prick, _she thought.

Taking a seat behind his desk again, he pulled out a bottle of scotch from the bottom drawer, pouring himself a generous amount. It wasn't even eleven o'clock in the morning and he was already drinking. He was starting to lose control of everything going on around him.

"What's goin' on with Eamonn?"

"Drop this bogus court-martial against Dessie."

Jimmy was genuinely caught off guard. He wracked his brain trying to figure out how she knew about it when the summons hadn't been served yet. Wrongly, he assumed it was Seamus who told her. Promoting someone so close to Catherine to fill her old position was a terrible idea.

He snickered at her attempt to give him orders. There was something Catherine standing her ground, asserting her dominance, that always aroused him. Instead of intimidating him, all she managed to do was turn him on. Some of the best sex they've ever had happened while she was indignantly flying. Although, seeing her with that swollen belly protruding from underneath her t-shirt did a damn good job of subsiding any innate urge he felt to pin her down and remind her who's really boss.

"Or what?" he taunted. "What are ya gonna do? Keep Eamonn away from me? Try to steal another shipment of AK's?"

Catherine strolled over to the desk, placing both hands down before leaning forward.

No, she wasn't going to use the threat of keeping Eamonn away because that fate was sealed the moment he decided to break into her home, pistol whip Dessie, and carve his face half to hell. Nor was there another shipment to steal because the distribution deal with Misha made ONH the rightful owners of the hardware.

"If you drop the charges, you have my word I'll make sure you get out of Ireland alive when it's all said and done. If you don't, the offer is off the table. Before there's even a date for the trial, you'll be in the ground."

"And how do ya plan on makin' that happen without riskin' an execution order for yourself?"

Catherine looked straight into Jimmy's bitter eyes, unsurprised when she didn't see a single shred of humanity. Fourteen years too long she kept her mouth. She was done playing games.

"I don't think the Kings, or anyone else in the Ra, will care about what happens to you once I tell my Da and Dessie that I wasn't eighteen, let alone seventeen, the first time somethin' happened between us."

Raw terror swallowed Jimmy whole. "You're bluffin' You'd never tell 'em."

"Oh? Unlike you, I have nothin' left to lose by makin' our past public. I've lost everythin' because of you, Jimmy. My reputation both in and out of the Ra is shot, Darragh is dead, and my family is torn apart. Maybe if everyone knew how early it did start, they'd understand why I turned out the way I bloody did."

Catherine watched as Jimmy's jaw flexed and the creases in his forehead deepened. It terrified him, even more, to realize she was right. Catherine was far more dangerous than ever before - she could bring him down without lifting a finger or a gun.

"That's fuckin' bullshit," he snapped. "You came on to me that night!"

"I dare ya to use that defense to my Da. Somehow, I don't think he'll be able to get past the fact you just sat back and let his drunken sixteen-year-old daughter suck you off."

Jimmy panicked. "You tell a fuckin' soul about that, and I swear to God I will fuckin' end you, Catherine."

This time Catherine laughed and threw his words back in his face. "What are you gonna do? Tell Dessie and my Da about Ian? Guess what? They already know. You can't even tell 'em I touted on ya to the Kings because that was a failed attempt by Dessie and me to get you fuckin' exiled. You were never gonna lead Óglaigh na hÉireann - it was always Dessie. The reigns of the Irish Kings and you are over. If you plan to survive, I suggest you do as I say and drop the goddamn court-martial."

It was too late by the time Catherine realized she said too much.

* * *

The Beastie Boys echoed loudly in the garage as Dessie changed the struts on an Audi. He decided to work through lunch for the next couple of days so he could skip out early on Friday and head up to Belfast to help Catherine pack. He didn't mind being there alone - he preferred it. This way he wasn't being bugged every twenty minutes to help guide one of the new kids through something he could do with his eyes closed.

Dessie sang along with the song as he tossed the spent strut on the concrete floor, and pulled the new one out of the box. Popping it in, he had just started tightening up the bolts when he heard his cellphone start to ring. Dropping the wrench with a clatter, he wiped his hands on his shirt before picking it up off the top of his toolbox.

_Cate _was sprawled across the screen.

Phone in hand, Dessie dashed over to the stereo to turn off the music before answering.

"Hey, baby, what's up? I'm still workin', but I should be don-"

Catherine cut him off. The sheer terror in her voice cut through Dessie like a knife. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him as she told him what happened.

All morning he couldn't shake the gut feeling that her being in Belfast without him was a mistake. What pissed him off the most was that there were supposed to be two men from Jonesborough watching out for precisely this.

He tried to calm her down but she was hysterical. "Catherine! Focus, baby. Where are you?"

"On my...on my way back to Belfast."

"Back to Belfast? Where the hell were you?"

"In Newry!"

Pulling the phone away from his ear, Dessie swore. When he spoke to her again, he gave her careful instructions.

"You need to turn around and get to Forkhill. Belfast is the first place they'll go lookin' for ya. Call me as soon as you get there."


	73. Poor Choice of Words

"So, you tore up my court-martial summons because you were mad at me, then decided to try and solve the situation yourself, instead of just tellin' me about it. Then you disobeyed an order by goin' to Newry to see Jimmy, where you accidentally told him about our plan to have him excommunicated. After he obviously started ragin', you stabbed him."

"Aye," Catherine nodded, popping a handful of Skittles into her mouth. "That's the long and short of it, so it is."

Dessie stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray before pressing the heels of his palms to his sore eyes. "Paddy, would you…"

Reaching over, Patrick thwacked the back of Catherine's head. She winced, more so out of surprise than pain, and set the candy package down on the desk to rub the sore spot.

"Hell was that for, Da?"

"Because you're an eejit!"

"How am I the idiot when just a couple'a days ago you were irritated with me for not shootin' him?"

"Because if you're gonna go after Jimmy…kill the fucker! All you've managed to do is piss him off, and that means bad news for everyone."

Dessie leaned back in his chair and tossed his feet up on the desk. He wanted to tell her he was proud of her for even thinking to ram her blade into Jimmy's thigh, but Patrick had a point, so he needed to keep his mouth shut. Plus, he was angry she hadn't told him about the court-martial the moment Fiona handed over a copy of the summons. That would have avoided this entire situation.

"I figured stabbin' him would be the better alternative to ya know, killin' the True army chief of staff. It's just a flesh wound; I'm sure he's already up and about."

Dessie snorted, "Yeah, up and about lookin' to murder the two of us because you opened your goddamn mouth without thinkin'."

"He threatened to tell youse about Ian and the Kings. I wanted him to know he had nothin' to threaten me with - there's nothin' he can do to me anymore."

"You're lucky those Newry lads didn't drag ya out into the street the hair and fuckin' shoot you in broad daylight." Patrick reminded her.

Folding her hands in her lap, Catherine focused her attention on a scratch in the leather of her right boot. It made her feel like absolute shit hearing Dessie and Patrick rip into her the way they were, but she understood she deserved every bit of it. By stupidly opening her mouth, she not only put Dessie and the rest of the ONH lads in danger, but she also put herself in a vulnerable position.

Sure, Jimmy would never have the stomach to take Catherine out himself, the same couldn't be said for the men who were still loyal to him. Being pregnant with two kids wouldn't stop them from pulling the trigger and littering her body with hollow points.

"What do we do now?" she meekly asked.

Dessie cleared his throat. "First and foremost, I think it's safe to assume that you and I are no longer part of the True IRA. That leaves us with no other option than to make the split of ONH and the True army official. Then, it would be a good idea for me, Jimmy, and Fergal to sit down somewhere in the Republic and fuckin' figure out how ONH, and the True and Continuity armies can bloody coexist without us killin' each other. In the meantime, I've two lads from Derry goin' out to Ukraine next week to work out a deal for us to move smokes, while a couple'a Provos are gonna show the blokes in County Louth how to distill spirits so we can make some goddamn money."

"Bringin' back Provo vodka, Dess?" Patrick smiled.

"It's a crowd favorite, and it's easier to make it than smuggle moonshine in from Eastern Europe."

"It would be cheaper to have me move moonshine from Belarus through the thirty-two counties," Catherine cheekily added.

Dessie and Patrick looked at her like she magically sprouted another head. It was Dessie who spoke for both of them.

"You tore up my court-martial summons and stabbed Jimmy O. Until I can somehow smooth things over in Belfast, you're not goin' any more north than Cullyhanna. So no, ya won't be movin' much of anythin' through the thirty-two counties."

"If I can't go past Cullyhanna, how the hell am I supposed to get the boys to school or get my house packed and sold?"

Patrick shifted uncomfortably, knowing his daughter wasn't going to like what he had to say. "Your ma and I are gonna keep the boys with us until the term is over. It's only for a few more weeks. We'll bring 'em down on Friday afternoons and pick 'em up Sunday nights."

"You cannot keep me from my boys for over a month!"

"There's no other option, Catherine," Dessie reminded her. "If you show your face in Belfast before tensions are cool, God only knows what'll happen to ya."

Covering her face with her hands, Catherine leaned forward the best she could despite her belly. She instantly broke out into tears, unable to fathom the idea of being separated from Eamonn and Sean for one week, let alone nearly four and a half. It irritated her more to realize she couldn't place the blame on Dessie or Patrick because they were making the right decision. Not being able to be Belfast was her fault. Stabbing Jimmy in self-defense was beside the point in their world; if she wanted to avoid a confrontation, she never should have gone to Newry.

Patrick reached over and grabbed Catherine by the back of her shirt to pull her in for a hug. She wrapped her arms tightly around her father's neck, burying her face into his chest. Dessie watched helplessly as Patrick rubbed her back in an attempt to soothe her. Though it seemed to do very little to stop the tears. Both men despised keeping Catherine from Eamonn and Sean for that long, but it was better to the alternative of having a police officer knocking on the door to tell Patrick and Olivia her body had been found with an army tag on her forehead.

She wasn't going to bend so easily to the proposed living arrangement.

"No," she said with a hiccup. "They're not stayin' in Belfast without me. Our only option is to get 'em enrolled at St. Patrick's now, even if it is for just a month. If I have to be down here in south Armagh, so do the boys. We're a package deal, so we are. Besides, it would be good for 'em…this way they can go into the summer with mates."

Dessie and Patrick stared at one another. She had a point. They had tried to stretch out upsetting their normal routine for as long as possible, but keeping Eamonn and Sean in Belfast just wasn't realistic anymore. Especially for Eamonn, who Dessie worried the most about.

"Fine," Dessie relented. "While I'm at work you can get the paperwork done. I also need ya to reach out to Fiona and ask if Jimmy has any trips comin' up. If he's out of Norn Iron, we can get your place packed up."

Though she was relieved she finally got Dessie to agree to pull the boys out of St. Matthew's, she shifted uncomfortably knowing he wasn't going to appreciate the bomb she was about to drop.

"I don't have to reach out to Fi for that info."

"Why?" Dessie asked.

She hesitated in preparation for him blowing up again. "Because she gave me his laptop. Which, I didn't tell you about because I was mad at you."

Dessie pulled a cigarette from the pack sitting in the pocket of his dirty work shirt. As he lit it, he said, "Paddy, please…"

Instead of popping her upside the head, Patrick lightly pinched her arm. He was cross, if not more than Dessie, over his daughter's lapse of judgment. It was no secret the pregnancy hormones were clouding her usual thinking, but to Patrick, what she did to Dessie just made her look small-minded.

"You need to pull your shite together, Catherine," Patrick scolded. "If this is your idea of respectin' your husband, then I wouldn't blame him for kickin' your arse to the curb."

Catherine caught Dessie's eye as his gaze bounced back at forth between the father and daughter. She mouthed an "I'm sorry," though it did very little to relax his tightened expression.

Ashing his cigarette, Dessie scratched at the faint beard starting to grow in since he couldn't shave on account of the sutures. He wondered what in the hell he was going to do with Catherine. No way could he let this go. Not after he had just been dog-piled about how he was too lenient with her. Sucking his teeth, Dessie thought about what he'd do with any other volunteer after finding out valuable intelligence had been kept from him. Holding up two fingers, he wiggled them.

"Two weeks," he paused to take a drag from his smoke, "you're suspended for two weeks. Besides, you need the break; I've been runnin' you ragged."

Catherine took a breath, realizing there was no point in fighting him on this. She had screwed up horribly and it was time she accepted the consequences.

* * *

After putting the boys to bed, Dessie almost went downstairs to grab a beer and settle in front of the television with the lads. He stopped himself, glancing down the hall to see the soft light of their bedroom pouring out from the gap beneath the door.

Catherine had snuck upstairs to bed when Dessie and Patrick finished laying into her. When Dessie tried to coax her down with the promise of pizza, even that didn't make her budge. The way she just blankly stared at the wall with the pillow clutched against her chest reminded him of the severe depression she fell into after Darragh's funeral.

He prayed to God the despondency was short-lived.

Slicking back the locks of hair falling over his eye, Dessie took off down the hall with heavy footsteps.

Gently pushing the door open, he smiled finding Catherine laying in bed reading his battered copy of _Wuthering Heights_. When she accidentally stumbled upon his collection of classic novels, he had been slightly embarrassed to admit his love for reading to her. As she opened the box stuffed to the gills with books he read over and over, Dessie wished it were a stash of porn instead. That would have been a hell of a lot less mortifying to explain.

But at least now he didn't feel the need to stash his current reading material around the flat and be in constant fear of Catherine stumbling upon it.

Sneaking into the bathroom, Dessie turned on the taps to the tub. Once the water was as hot as she liked, he dropped the plug. He wished they were back at his flat so he could toss in a handful of the floral-scented salts she liked but he didn't, because they always managed to get lodged in places where they shouldn't be.

So there would at least be bubbles, Dessie squirts some of Catherine's shower gel into the water stream. Instantly, the calming scent of lavender and vanilla filled the bathroom. With the lighter from his pocket, he lit the candles that were sitting on the window ledge. When the tub filled enough, he shut off the water and the lights before heading back into the bedroom.

Strolling over to her, Dessie took the book from Catherine's hands. Placing it on the nightstand, he ignored her protests.

"Stand up," he said, grabbing her hands to help hoist her up.

On her feet, Catherine giggled having seen the laser-focused gleam in his eye. At this point, she gave in and decided not to ask any more questions.

On the surface, Dessie was hardened, but underneath there was a sensitive man Catherine felt privileged to have gotten to know. She had seen him pull a man's tooth out without even batting an eye, but yet he was also the master of romance when he wanted to be.

Grabbing the hem of her shirt, Dessie lifted it over her head. After letting it fall to the floor, he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. With her bra on the floor, too, he went for her joggers. Though this time Catherine stopped him.

He watched her intently as she took them off, kicking them to the side. She hooked her fingers into the waistband of her panties, and this time he knocked her hands away.

Dropping to his knees, Dessie slid the cotton garment down her silken legs. Placing a hand on his shoulder for balance, Catherine stepped out of them. Quickly throwing the useless material behind him, he wasted not a single second to run his hands up and down her beautiful, growing body. He pressed light kisses to her left hip, moving across her waist to the other.

"If only you knew just how fuckin' sexy you are," purred Dessie between kisses. He rested his hands on her ribcage. "I already can't wait to put another wee baby in you."

Catherine bit her lip and closed her eyes, sliding her fingers through his hair as she soaked in the warmth of his kisses.

"I have a feelin' ya won't be sayin' that once ya realize how much of a wee cock-blocker an infant can be."

Getting back on his feet, Dessie chuckled when her hands went right for the hem of his shirt, tugging it off of him. "Yeah, okay. You're just as bad as I am, if not worse. I swear you're randier than a goddamn teenage boy."

"Oh, poor you," she teased, going for his belt. "How tragic for you to have a woman who loves ridin' your cock. I'll try not to feel too sorry for ya."

"Correction," Dessie pulled Catherine closer to him, brushing his lips along hers, "I have a bleedin' stunner of a woman who loves ridin' my cock."

* * *

Dessie settled into the bubble bath first. He held out his hand for Catherine to take as she stepped in, and once she was between his legs, he wrapped her in his arms. Resting his chin on her shoulder, Dessie kissed behind her ear. When she cupped water in her hand to splash over her belly, he caught the sparkle of her diamond in the candlelight. Gently taking her hand, Dessie held it up to get a better look at the ring on her swollen finger.

"Havin' second thoughts about marryin' me?" she asked.

"Never. Why would you say that?"

Catherine rested the back of her head on his chest and played with his fingers. "Because I majorly screwed up. I hid somethin' incredibly important from you, and then made things a thousand times worse by tryin' to fix it me'self. If you wanna suspend me longer than two weeks, I wouldn't hold it against ya."

Dessie took his hand away from hers, running his fingers through her hair. He kissed her temple. While she did deserve two months, not two weeks, Catherine was too valuable of an asset to have sitting on the sidelines during such an important transition period. He also understood why she reacted the way she did, but, that wasn't enough of an excuse to completely forgive what she had done.

"I'd like to think this isn't somethin' you would've done if your mind wasn't out of sorts. I remember how crazy ya were when you were pregnant with Eamonn. Ya fuckin' shot a guard after I bloody told ya not to. And to be fair, ya went to see Jimmy with the intention of helpin' me…can't say I wouldn't do the same for you."

"I dunno what happened, Dessie. I thought for the first time I had him, ya know? Like, finally there was nothin' he had to threaten me with; I was finally out of his hold."

When he had finally made it to Forkhill after work and he managed to get the full story from Catherine, Dessie got the sense she had left out a tremendous amount of detail when it came to the struggle. He didn't blame her. After experiencing Jimmy's wrath first hand, Dessie only had to use his imagination. What he didn't want to think about were all the ways it could have gone against Catherine. Easily she could have been the one who ended up with the knife in her neck, rather than the thigh. And how she managed to evade Jimmy's enforcers was beyond him.

At the end of it all, the only thing that mattered was the fact she was in a bubble bath him, wrapped snugly in his arms.

"Promise me you'll never do somethin' that stupid again," he mumbled. "No matter how mad you are, ya can't keep things from me. There's no battle you have to fight on your own anymore, Catherine."

Catherine detested how utterly benevolent he was being when she didn't deserve an ounce of his sympathy.

"I promise. And I promise I'll never keep things from you."

"Thank you."

Turning her neck, he kissed her. Dessie could taste the sweetness of her strawberry balm when his tongue snuck passed her lips. It had been far too long since he last gave her a proper kiss, and it helped him relax when he felt her tense muscles slacken.

Reaching behind her, Catherine curled her fingers around the nape of his neck, occasionally tugging on his hair. She arched her back, deepening the kiss, while Dessie gingerly flicked her taut, albeit tender, nipple with the pad of his thumb. His other hand caressed her soft inner thigh.

Feeling his middle finger start to wander in search of her velvet heat, Catherine grabbed Dessie's wrist before he had a chance to find what he was looking for.

"My Da's downstairs," she croaked. Hearing the lustful gravel in her voice did very little to curb his thirst. "You better behave yourself, Dennehy."

Patrick being within earshot of his daughter's filthy cries of ecstasy hadn't stopped Dessie before and it sure as shit wasn't going to stop him now.

He took his hand off her breast, dragging his thumb along her plump lower lip.

"Well, I guess that means you'll have to stay quiet then," he said, slipping his thumb into her mouth while at the same time his middle and ring fingers found their way inside of her.

* * *

Connor, Jack, Aidan, and Patrick were sitting around the kitchen table playing Texas Hold'em. It was nearly one in the morning. Dessie and Catherine had long since gone to bed, leaving the four men to gamble and drink the night away.

"I fold," Patrick said, tossing his cards on the table. He took a long drag from his cigarette before placing it back in the ashtray. "Youse wee feckers are cleanin' me out."

"Should've played more poker when you were on the run, Paddy," snickered Jack.

Patrick stared down the youngest man in the south Armagh brigade, wondering if Dessie would really care if he gave the smart-mouthed bloke the beat down he's been cruising for all night. If he weren't surrounded by two other south Armagh lads who seemed to have a fondness for Jack, he would've done it.

"There wasn't time for poker when I was a Provo. We actually had shite to do whether we were on the run or not."

Aidan lit a cigarette, tossing his lighter down along with his cards. "Here's to hopin' Dessie can get Catherine on board with the bomb we're plannin' for Fork-" Hearing a knocked on the backdoor in the kitchen, Aidan instantly stopped talking. Then he whispered, "Who the fuck could that be?"

The location of the farmhouse in Forkhill was relatively unknown to most volunteers outside of the south Armagh leadership circle. When the profits from their cigarette smuggling started rolling in, Dessie, Kieran, and Rory pooled their money together and bought the place as a way to hide assets. Wanting to keep most of their business outside of Crossmaglen, it quickly became the place where operations were planned, and gave them space - mainly privacy - to handle interrogations and assemble bombs and mortars. To keep their clandestine appearance, besides Catherine, Patrick, and Seamus, no one from the Belfast brigade know of its existence.

They each checked their phones to see if they had any unread text messages. Nothing.

Patrick reached for the Glock in his waistband and handed it to Connor as he stood up. Silently inching his way towards the door, Connor made sure there was round chambered. Wrapping his hand around the grip, he kept the barrel pointed down and his finger perpendicular to the trigger.

He called out, "Who is it?"

"It's me, you gobshite. Open the fuckin' door." Kieran hissed.

Twisting the deadbolt, Connor got it open as quickly as he could. He stepped aside for Kieran to walk in.

"Why the hell didn't you just use your key?"

He ignored the question, not wanting to admit he had forgotten them during the mad-dash from his house in Crossmaglen. He was still dressed in the tracksuit bottoms, and t-shirt he had gone to bed in, his shoes were lazily tied, and his hair was disheveled.

"Where's Dessie? I stopped by his flat but got no answer. He's not answerin' his phone either. Please don't tell me he's in Belfast with that fuckin'-"

Kieran stopped himself the second he saw Patrick sitting at the table.

"That fuckin' what?" challenged Patrick. "Please, finish your thought, boyo."

Kieran didn't have the nerve to. Not with the news he came bearing. "Good to see ya, Paddy. Where's Dessie? Hugh reached out to me from Belfast with news he's gotta hear straightaway."

"He's upstairs; dead to the world, so he is," said Connor. "Poor bastard hasn't slept in days."

Patrick took his pistol back from Connor. "What's the craic from Belfast?"

Kieran set his car keys on the island, resting his hands on his narrow hips. "As Seamus was leavin' work from the Rock, a couple'a Jimmy's lads were waitin' for him, and they had a wee row. The details are dodgy 'cause no one's sayin' shite, but word is it got heated, and one of the lads shot Seamus. Fuckin' shot him dead."

A heavy somberness blanketed the room as each of the men crossed themselves to say a quick prayer for the fallen member of the ONH council.

"Dessie's gonna lose his fuckin' mind when he finds out." Aidan got up from the table to grab another shot glass for Kieran, before filling them with whiskey.

They clinked glasses, in unison saying, "To Seamus."

After tossing the drink back, Patrick swiped the bottle off the table to pour one out for Seamus.

"Honestly, I'm more worried about tellin' Catherine," Connor said, lighting a smoke. "They were close - took the same _Green Book _lectures, trained together. You should probably be the one to tell her, Paddy."

Patrick shook his head. "It should come from Dessie. We tell him first, and then he can tell her…privately."

The four other men nodded in agreement.

* * *

Kieran and Connor stood outside Dessie and Catherine's bedroom door. They had tried knocking, but to no avail, and they were uneasy about barging in to wake him up for several reasons. Mainly because they knew how much Dessie valued his privacy, along with the fact he was notorious for being cantankerous if woken up from a sound sleep.

"I'm not goin' in there. You do it," urged Kieran.

Connor shook his head. "Fuck no. You're his second in command, you do it."

Neither of the men heard Patrick come up behind them. When he placed his hands on their shoulders, they nearly jumped four feet in the air.

"Which of you pussies are gonna do it?" They both pointed to one another one, and Patrick rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll do it."

Pushing his way into the bedroom, Patrick was only able to see thanks to the illumination from the moonlight. It slightly hit his nerves to see Dessie - who was only in his boxers - laying on his stomach, curled up with his daughter. He wondered how in the world Catherine managed to get any sleep with Dessie loudly snoring in her ear.

Marching over to the edge of the bed, Patrick nudged Dessie in the ass with his booted foot until the snoring stopped and Dessie rolled over.

"What the fuck?" Dessie hissed, sleep still thick in his low voice. "Someone better be fuckin' dead."

_Poor choice of words_, Patrick thought.

Patrick pointed to Catherine; she was still sleeping. He whispered, "Don't wake her up - you're needed downstairs. And it's Seamus."

"Huh?" Dessie propped himself up on one elbow as he rubbed his eye.

"Seamus…he's the one who's dead."

* * *

Dessie poured a shot of whiskey into his tea. There wasn't enough alcohol in Ireland to numb the gnawing sense of failure. It had been nearly eleven years since he lost a man under his command. He couldn't help but blame himself for not spreading the word to everyone within ONH to avoid Jimmy and his men. Foolish naivety was what Dessie chalked it up to. It was stupid to think Catherine was the only one they'd go after. They all had targets on their backs now.

"How do you wanna handle this?" Kieran asked.

Dessie stirred in the whiskey and took a sip. "The True army needs to know Seamus died as an active member of the ONH army council, and there will be swift consequence for their careless action. After work, I'll head up to Belfast to talk with Orla about the funeral."

"You should bring Catherine with you," Patrick said pouring himself a shot. "I know you don't want her in Belfast, but havin' her there may be good for Orla, especially since Catherine already went through this with Darragh."

Bringing Catherine to Belfast was the last thing Dessie wanted to do, but he couldn't dismiss the point Patrick was making. Having Catherine lead the difficult conversation on whether or not to have a full honors funeral was the best way to go. This time he'd be smart about it.

"When we're in Belfast, I want eyes on Catherine from every goddamn direction, youse hear? Connor, you're to fetch the Barrett - I want a sniper across the fuckin' street from Orla's. And from now on, everyone is to vary their routines; God only knows who Jimmy is lookin' to take out - "

"Dessie," Connor interjected a warning when he saw Catherine stroll into the kitchen. He inconspicuously pointed to the doorway.

Dessie turned around, his heart dropping into his stomach when he realized he'd have to break the news to her now. He'd been hoping to put it off until the morning.

Catherine pushed the sleeves of her pajama top up to her elbows, suspiciously looking at the six men huddled around the table. She noted that like Dessie, Kieran also looked to have been dragged from bed.

"Everythin' okay?"

Dessie thought he was going to be sick.

Standing up, he carefully approached Catherine, placing a hand on the small of her back. Patrick, Kieran, Connor, Jack, and Aidan all bowed their heads and winced as Dessie led her into the living room.

For one long minute, the house was silent. And then they heard Catherine's chilling wail of grief.


	74. Thirty Weeks

**July 2009 - Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

Pausing his game, Dessie set the Xbox controller on the coffee table. Next to him, Catherine rustled around, having a more difficult time than usual finding a comfortable position.

Thirty weeks pregnant, Dessie was sympathetic to her plight. Although after fifteen minutes of her restlessness, he was mildly annoyed.

"You okay?" he asked. Grabbing the throw pillow on the other side of him, Dessie fluffed it and then tucked it under her ankles resting on the table. "You haven't been lookin' very well the last couple days."

Catherine pressed down on the upper part of her belly, trying to nudge Danny's head away from her ribcage. She was so uncomfortable she didn't know which aliment to start listing first.

"That's because I feel like shite."

At her admission, Dessie's heart fluttered. She wasn't the type to ever outright confess she was feeling unwell. It was far from a good sign she had.

Groaning and leaning as far forward as she could, Catherine kneaded her fingers into the relentlessly tender spot on her calf. Over the last three days, she tried soaking the ache away in an Epsom salt bath and stretching it out during prenatal yoga. No matter what she did, the nagging pain never seemed to go away. Dessie tried to brush it off as nothing more than a strained muscle from too many yoga sessions. What Catherine failed to tell him was the soreness was growing worse. At this point, walking was becoming unbearable.

More concerned than ever, Dessie grabbed Catherine's leg and moved it over onto his lap. He took over massaging but stopped the moment she helplessly winced.

"You promised you'd tell me if it wasn't gettin' any better," scold Dessie. "Gotta stop pushin' yourself so hard, Catherine. You're not twenty-three anymore."

She scoffed, "Thanks for the reminder."

Now she wasn't going to tell him about the blinding headache she's had for almost a day now. The vision in her left eye twisted like a kaleidoscope, oftentimes blurring in and out.

In the days after they buried Seamus, Catherine had officially been diagnosed with preeclampsia so every minor ache and pain she felt had Dessie on edge. Over the last two months, she spent more time at her doctor's office than she did during the entirety of her pregnancies with Eamonn and Sean. She was over it—she was counting down the days until she gave birth.

Swinging her leg off Dessie's lap, Catherine stood up. Somehow she managed to hide the fact she was feeling rather uneasy on her feet.

"Do ya want a cuppa while I'm up?"

Dessie slid his fingers up the back of Catherine's black tank top, tracing the tips of his fingers along her soft skin. He studied her face intently, trying to decide whether or not he was going to force her to go to the emergency department. Something was wrong, he could sense it.

A proper husband would have ordered his wife to sit down and prop her feet up as he made her a cup of tea, but Dessie wanted to see just how bad her leg was hurting. He nodded, nudging her towards the kitchen with a playful tap on the ass.

She took three steps unscathed. On the fourth, once her left foot hit the hardwood floor, Catherine nearly burst into tears. She stopped walking and grabbed hold of the bookshelf so she could lift her foot off the ground and alleviate the pain.

Dessie shot up, bolting to her side. Catherine wrapped an arm around him to lean against him for balance.

"I've let this slide for three days too long; you're goin' to hospital. Don't think about fightin' me on this because I'm not changing me mind."

Catherine looked out the window to see Eamonn and Sean playing in the garden. She thought about fighting Dessie on it simply because she didn't want to interrupt the time her boys were spending outside, but it was the shooting pain through her head that quickly changed her mind.

"Aye," she breathed. "Let's go."

* * *

**Daisy Hill Hospital - Newry, Northern Ireland **

Patrick and Olivia rushed through the front entrance of the Newry hospital. It didn't take long for Olivia to spot her son-in-law, who was sitting in a chair in the main waiting area. A cup of coffee was nestled in his hands; his head was lowered as he tuned out the commotion going on around him. Patrick interwove his fingers with his wife's, tugging her in the direction of Dessie. After the news which had interrupted their dinner, he felt like he was crawling out of his skin.

Feeling the presence towering over him, Dessie looked up. He quickly wiped the tears away from his cheeks not wanting to give Patrick a reason to think he couldn't hold it together during the worst times in life. Standing, he threw away the paper coffee cup then jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

Seeing how exhausted and utterly defeated Dessie appeared, Patrick and Olivia braced themselves for news worse than they expected.

"How are Catherine and Danny?" Patrick cut right to the chase. There was no reason to pussyfoot when his baby and her baby were far from well.

Dessie fought through his trembling jaw, forcing shaky words out over the knot in his throat. "She had another seizure about a half-hour ago so they moved her from High Dependency into the ICU. They've got her pumped full of blood thinners for the clot in her leg, anti-convulsants, and meds to bring down her blood pressure. Her OB said after the last seizure, Danny started showin' signs of distress on the monitor-"

Olivia interjected, "What does that mean for the both of 'em."

"They're both decompensating so quickly, the only way to get anythin' under control is for her to deliver. She on the board for an emergency C-section, but she's refusin' to go into surgery until she sees you, Paddy."

Patrick cursed under his breath and when he got Catherine's room number took off for the elevators. Pressing the button about a dozen times in a row, he instead opted for the stairs when the doors didn't open fast enough. He took the steps two at a time. At fifty-one and a pack-a-day smoker, Patrick was about ready for an oxygen mask by the time he reached Catherine's room in the Intensive Care Unit.

It took everything in him not to break when he saw Catherine lying in bed. Surrounded by beeping screens with IV's in both arms, and a fetal monitor strapped around her belly, Patrick couldn't bring himself to enter just yet.

Never once in the thirty years since her birth did Patrick recall a time where she seemed so small and helpless. She had spent her entire life being strong for everyone else, the unnecessary stress she put on herself was finally biting her in the ass. Patrick realized that right now she needed him and Dessie to be the strong ones so for the first time she didn't have to be.

Moving out of view of the giant windows, Patrick rested his hands on his hips. To compose himself he took several breaths. Maybe Olivia should have been the one to come up first—she was far more emotionally equipped to deal with shit like this. It didn't matter how tough Patrick seemed on the outside, the one thing he never could properly handle was seeing his youngest child, his only daughter, so fragile.

When she was a child and waltzed into the house with a skinned knee from falling off her bicycle or a wound from catching an elbow to the face during a rough rugby match with the neighborhood boys, Patrick would become more worked up than Catherine.

This was far worse than a skinned knee and a bloody nose, yet Patrick felt oddly calm.

"Are you gonna come in or what?" He heard a groggy Catherine through the open door. He hadn't been as clandestine as he thought.

Walking into her room, he couldn't believe how worn out she looked. Two seizures in only five hours took their toll on her exasperated body. She was paler than usual, with such dark circles it seemed like she had two black eyes behind the thick frames of her glasses. Her left leg was propped up on a mountain of pillows, a nasal cannula was jammed in her nose, and a pulse oximeter was clamped on her index finger.

"How'd you'd know I was up here?"

Catherine gestured to the glass wall so the nurses could see right into her room. "Saw ya comin' down the hall." Strolling over to her, Patrick took a seat on the edge of her bed. She rested her hand on top of his, asking, "You doin' okay?"

"I should be askin' you that, not the other way around."

She shrugged. "It is what it is. Was Dessie downstairs? He hasn't been up here since Kieran came to pick up the boys."

"Aye. He told us the doc wants you to deliver tonight, but you don't wanna go through with it."

"It's too soon!" Catherine swallowed her tears. "Thirty weeks is too early for him to be born. I don't care if I have to sit in bed for another seven weeks bein' pumped full of a pharmacy worth of drugs, he's not comin' out."

Patrick reached out and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. Seeing her choke up was making it difficult for him to control the sting of tears in his eyes.

"Catherine-"

"No! I can do this, Da…I can carry Danny to term. My body will not fail my son. It can't—I can't fail him."

Pulling Catherine in for a tight hug, Patrick nuzzled his nose into her hair as she buried her face into his chest. He rubbed her back through the thin generic gown she was wearing, feeling the tears fall from his eyes while hers dampened his t-shirt. She went limp in his arms as if the last ounce of strength she had been holding on to was leaving her body.

"It's my fault," she cried. "If I would've just slowed down as my doctor said to, this never would've bloody happened."

This wasn't the time to start hurling blame, but Patrick didn't have it in him to sugarcoat the situation. Her ignorant life choices were what led to this mess, so now she needed to suck it up and deal with the consequences. Gently laying Catherine back down, Patrick told her what was going to happen.

"Aye, you didn't take it easy and now we're here. The best thing you can do for Danny is to deliver him and let the doctors work their magic to make sure he stays healthy. It's also the best thing you can do for all four of your boys because it's only a matter of time before you end up havin' a goddamn stoke. I know you're scared; there are a lot of unanswered questions floatin' around in your wee head. If anyone can get through this, it's you, Catherine."

In the six hours since she got to the hospital, Catherine took a deep breath. Hearing Patrick put it into perspective made sense to her. She needed to do what was right for Danny and keeping him inside her failing body, wasn't it.

Seeing a figure in the doorway, she looked up to see Dessie. Waving him in, he took a seat in the chair next to the bed and grabbed her hand.

"You remember what the doctor said, yeah? Babies born this early have a high rate of survival, and a low chance of long term complications. It's just a bump in the road that we'll get through," Dessie warmly assured.

"Is Ma here?" she asked.

Patrick nodded and Dessie told her Olivia was in the ICU waiting area since only two people were allowed at a time in her room. "She said she'll see you after surgery."

"Knock, knock," Dr. Kennedy, Catherine's OB, came into the room having changed into a pair of dark blue scrubs from the suit he'd been wearing when she last him. He introduced himself to Patrick, and then checked the print out of the fetal monitor. "We ready to head into the OR and have a baby?"

Dessie answered for them both, though she could hear the same fear in his voice which plagued her. What frightened them the most was knowing their newborn would be alone in the NICU without them for an unknown amount of time. What brought her the biggest heartache was not being able to have the chance to hold Danny, to swaddle him, feed him. All the things Catherine had been so looking forward to since the moment the pink plus-sign appeared on the stick.

Dr. Kennedy flipped through Catherine's chart, not looking up when he asked Dessie, "Do you plan to be in the OR with her?"

There was nothing to even think about, quickly telling the doctor he would be. Never in a million years would he miss the birth of his son.

Wanting to keep anxieties down as much as possible, Dr. Kennedy carefully explained every detail of what they could expect once he made the first cut into her belly. Dessie's hold on Catherine's hand tightened as they were told they wouldn't even have the chance to see Danny before he was whisked away by the neonatal team. So far, it seemed the worst part would be waiting for Danny's doctor to come by and tell them how he's doing.

"Will I be able to see him once I'm out of recovery?"

It broke Dr. Kennedy's heart to tell her no. "Dessie, you'll be able to see him once they've got the results of his blood work and scans, but Catherine, you have to go at least thirty-six hours without a seizure before you'll be allowed into the NICU."

"I won't go until you can," Dessie said. "It doesn't seem right to see him without you."

Catherine shook her head. "No, you should go. He needs one of us."

He wasn't going to her fight her. Until both his wife and son were home safe, sound, and healthy, he would do anything she asked of him.

"I'll have the labor and delivery nurses come up here to start gettin' you prepped," Dr. Kennedy paused to look at his watch, "then I should see you two in the OR in about a half-hour."

Once the doctor left, Patrick stayed with Catherine for as long as he could. When the anesthesiologist came by to give her the epidural, both Patrick and Dessie nearly fainted after seeing the size of the needle going into her back. Thankfully she didn't see it coming, but it stung them to see it pierce through her skin like a hot knife through butter.

She handed Patrick her glasses and rings just before being wheeled away with Dessie following close behind. Clenching her wedding band and engagement rings tightly in his fist, Patrick headed to the waiting room all the while praying to a God he wasn't sure he even believed in anymore. Life was finally looking up for Catherine and Dessie; it didn't seem fair to worry about losing a child weighing heavily on their broken souls.

Patrick found Olivia in the otherwise empty room, flipping through the pages of a tabloid. She tossed it back onto the table when he plopped into the chair beside her. Not a single word was spoken between the two. There was nothing that needed to be said. Olivia knew Catherine was okay based on the lack of outward emotion by her husband. If things were bad, he would've been a mess.

Just over an hour later, they scrambled to their feet as Dessie walked in.

He burst into a wide smile, tears rimming his eyes. "It's a boy!"

* * *

Catherine was flipping through the channels on the television when movement in the corner of her eye caught her attention. She sat up a little straighter, expecting her visitor to be Janna, her night nurse doing rounds.

It wasn't the perky, fresh out of school blonde.

"Visiting hours are over, Jimmy," she said. She hadn't seen him since she put a knife through his thigh muscle. "How did you even manage to get past the nurses?"

Jimmy stayed silent. He only adjusted his trousers before taking a seat in the chair Dessie occupied only an hour earlier. He leaned back, resting an ankle over the opposite knee. Catherine tensed as he gazed around the room. His focus fell on the monitor displaying her vitals.

"What are you doin' here? Come to smother me with a pillow? Tinker with my morphine drip so I overdose in my sleep?"

Jimmy wasn't in the mood to entertain her caustic attitude. Crossing his arms over his chest, he mildly snapped,

"I'm here because believe it or not, I still give a fuck about you, Catherine." Leaning forward, he covered his face with his hands, taking a breath. He interlocked his fingers and looked over at her. "When I heard what happened…scared the shite outta me. Made me realize I'm still in love with you despite everything over the last few months."

Catherine was taken by surprise. The last thing she expected was Jimmy showing up at the hospital in the first place, let alone his visit turning into a quasi-therapy session. The prospect of Jimmy opening up, telling her how he felt made her more uncomfortable than the staples in her abdomen did.

Ten years ago Catherine would have been jumping for joy to hear Jimmy say he was in love with her. Now she wished he would have held it in like every other self-respecting Irishman she knew.

For a split second, she considered pressing the button on the side of her bed to summon Janna so the no-nonsense nurse could tell Jimmy to get lost. This wasn't the conversation she wanted to have less than twenty-four hours after giving birth to her son ten weeks early, while her husband was forced to juggle work and taking care of the boys as she was stuck at Daisy Hill.

There was enough on her plate.

"You need to figure out how to not be in love with me, okay?"

"Ya know, you've been actin' like such a cunt ever since you got together with Dessie."

Catherine spat back, "Did you ever think that's because of the way you've treated me over the last decade? You treated me like shite, Jimmy. Utter shite. Honestly, you should be considering yourself lucky a knife to the leg was the only thing I did to you."

"And you should be considering yourself lucky I didn't have you fuckin' shot in the middle of the Falls Road when you showed your face in Belfast."

"I was only in Belfast because we were burying Seamus. You remember Seamus, don't ya? He's the lad you had killed for no bloody reason-"

"Lower your goddamn voice," he scolded, looking over his shoulder to make sure none of the nurses at the nurse's station heard her. "And you're wrong. I didn't have him... What I told you at the funeral is the truth, so it is. He was never supposed to get hurt, just wanted to give him a wee scare."

"Well, excuse me for not believin' you."

Jimmy couldn't blame her for being skeptical. There were far too many times in the past he lied to her, it was karma that the one time he was telling the truth she didn't have faith. Falling back into the chair, he tried to steady his heart rate. Starting a fight wasn't the reason why he came to visit Catherine—he wanted to mend the past.

"How are you feelin'? How's the baby? Eamonn? How's Eamonn doin'?"

"I feel like I just my belly sliced open, and they told me Danny's doin' well in the NICU. As for Eamonn, I'm not sure. Dessie said it scared the shite outta him when I had the first seizure in A and E…he doesn't wanna come to see me."

Hearing the raw melancholy in Catherine's voice over Eamonn's refusal to visit broke Jimmy's heart. Just hearing about what happened nearly made him lose his mind in fright; he couldn't even begin to imagine how terrifying it must have been to see it. For the first time, Jimmy felt for Dessie.

Reaching out, he gently caressed her hand. Though he had been absent through most of her pregnancy with Eamonn, Jimmy was never more thankful it had gone smoothly with zero complications.

"Fi said your ma is stayin' at your place with the boys so I'm surprised your husband isn't here," he noted condescendingly.

After he gave Dessie half a Glasgow smile, Catherine knew to engage in any sort of interaction with Jimmy probably wasn't the best of ideas. But her hormones were still out of whack and she was still trying to make sense of the last day. Dessie, too, was having a hard time coming to terms with what happened. When Danny's doctor in the NICU stressed the first forty-eight hours were critical for the newborn, Dessie wanted to avoid the hospital altogether because he wasn't sure if he wanted to be there if things took a turn for the worst.

It upset Catherine beyond all belief at how selfish she thought Dessie was being. She was just as scared as he was, but she didn't have the option of avoiding reality. With everything piling on top of her and no one there to unload on, having Jimmy beside her suddenly didn't seem so bad.

"He blames me," she said, picking a loose thread on her blanket. "We got into a wee row about how I wasn't takin' care of myself, and how if I had, this never would've happened. It's complete shite because he'd say I needed to slow down, and then he'd pile more work on me. Maybe it was my fault…I easily could've said no-"

"Don't you for a second blame yourself, Catherine. You had two perfectly healthy pregnancies before. No one would've guessed this one would be so complicated."

Catherine pursed her lips and nodded. "To be fair, the circumstances were a lot different then. I didn't have anywhere the same stress as I do now because all I was doin' was workin' at the law firm in Andytown. And Dessie helped me way more than Darragh ever did."

"You, a chuisle, deserved to do nothin' but put your feet up and be waited on hand and foot."

"…Says the man who had me runnin' all over Norn Iron when he found out I was pregnant. Seriously, what are you doin' here, Jimmy? We both utterly hate one another right now."

Careful not to tangle and tug on the IV lines coming out of her arm and hand, Jimmy curled his fingers around hers. "I just wanted to see you. And I wanted to apologize for what I did to you and Dessie."

"Do you have cancer or somethin'?" Jimmy dying of some sort of illness seemed like the only logical explanation to Catherine as to why he would show up to not only profess his love to her but also apologize for terrorizing her and Dessie. "You're high then. You've gotta be."

"No! I'm not…why would you even think that?"

"Because you never feel about bad about anything you've done, let alone apologize."

Jimmy thought that was a little unfair. There had been times in the past when he did genuinely apologize. It took him a little bit to come around and realize what he had done was wrong, but all that mattered to him was that he acknowledged his wrongdoings. Why wasn't that good enough for Catherine?

"That's not fuckin' true and you know it," he huffed. "Look, you have no idea the kind of pressure I've been under since the brilliant idea of mergin' everyone together. All of it has fallen on my shoulders and I snapped when I put two and two together and realized you poached Misha right out from under me. A heads up would've been nice. I get why you went for Misha, but what I can't figure out is why you tried to have me excommunicated. Was it your idea? Or was it Dessie's?"

Staring straight into Jimmy's icy blue eyes, Catherine felt no fear despite the heart monitor saying otherwise. She wanted to rip off the electrodes stuck to her chest to silence the quickening beeps. Doing so would only alert the nurses.

Jimmy assured, "You and Dessie don't fall under my command anymore so you have nothin' to worry about in tellin' me the truth."

"Bullshit. You nearly took our lives once. Who's to say you wouldn't try again?"

"It was him, wasn't it? Dessie approached you after you were promoted, didn't he?"

Catherine reminded herself Jimmy was too smart to go after Dessie now, considering ONH established themselves as a legitimate organization and most other paramilitaries knew Dessie was chief of staff. Offing him would upset the relative peace that seemed to be settling since Seamus' funeral. However, that didn't mean Jimmy and the Kings wouldn't still try to force Catherine and Dessie out of Ireland.

If there was a lesson Catherine learned after she stabbed Jimmy, it was that she was untouchable. Jimmy didn't have it him to put her six feet under, and none of his men dared to cross him and do it themselves. To protect Dessie, she decided to take the fall.

She lied, "It was my idea. I approached him."

"Why the fuck would you do that to me?" hissed Jimmy. He shot up out of the chair and moved to sit on the bed. "After everything I bloody did for you, you tried to push me out of the position I fuckin' busted my ass for."

Catherine glanced over his shoulder to see if any of the nurses were paying attention to her room. They weren't. She slyly twisted her finger around one of the wires connected to an electrode on her chest. If he started to lose his temper, she would disconnect it.

"It was nothin' personal, Jimmy. We wanted to topple the Kings, but for them to fall, you needed to fall as well. Getting through you was the only way we could get to 'em. If it were a successful operation, I purposed to bring you back for nomination into the Executive, but there was a vote and it was unanimous on keepin' you out of the new project altogether. They feel you're too…too much of a liability."

"So youse think I'm unhinged, huh?" Jimmy asked self-deprecatingly. "A loose cannon. Is that how you feel, too? Is that why you won't be with me or let me see Eamonn?"

Catherine was speechless. She had been telling him that for over five years and yet he still failed to grasp it. The utter lack of self-awareness he possessed left her in disbelief.

She nodded.

"I can change, ya know that, right?"

"No. You can't." Catherine was startled when her automatic blood pressure cuff turned on, tightening around her bicep. "I'll give you credit for tryin' because I know you really did after Darragh died, but this is just who you are."

Jimmy stayed calm, even though he could feel himself starting to become agitated with every word Catherine spoke. She was wrong—this wasn't who he was. This was who he became after his tour in south Armagh as a doe-eyed British army soldier and then seeing combat during the Falkland's war.

"Because I can't fuckin' move on. Being here is just a constant goddamn reminder of what was. And I fuckin' hate Dessie because he's the personification of the hell I went through durin' my tour in south Armagh. I didn't think I was gonna make it outta there alive and it would be my fuckin' countrymen to kill me."

Hearing Jimmy open up about his time in the military shocked Catherine to the core. He buried those four years so deep into his past it would take a metric ton of Semtex to unearth it.

"Runaway with me, Catherine. You and Eamonn, runaway with me. We can go to Moscow or—or Berlin. I know how much you love Germany, and you can speak Russian so the transition wouldn't be so rough."

"Okay, now you've gone bloody mad. I can't run away to Russia or Germany with you and Eamonn."

"Why not? What's stoppin' you?"

Jimmy cupped her jaw, gliding his thumb along her cheekbone. She didn't dare slap his hand away as the last thing she wanted to do was upset him when he was clearly going through some sort of psychotic break.

"Maybe because I have Sean, who I can't leave behind. I also have wee Danny, who I haven't even seen yet," she held up her left hand, showing off her wedding band and engagement ring, "my third and final reason is Dessie. When I said 'till death do we part' I meant it."

"We'll bring Sean with. Dessie'll be fine here with Danny."

Catherine started to see stars as the machine monitoring her vitals began buzzing loudly to draw attention. Before Catherine had a chance to figure out what caused the bells and whistles, Janna came rushing in.

"I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to cut your visit short," Janna said to Catherine. The bubbly nurse in salmon-colored scrubs unlocked a drawer of the medication cart in the room, grabbing a vial and syringe. After measuring out a dose, she started flushing it through the catheter in Catherine's hand. She scolded, "You've had a very eventful twenty-four hours, Mrs. Dennehy. Can't be gettin' yourself all excited now."

"She's right, Mrs. Dennehy," Jimmy mocked. "You should listen to her." Getting off the bed, he kissed her forehead. "I'll swing by in a couple'a days, a chuisle. Give Eamonn my love."


	75. No Strings Attached

**July 2009 - Lodi, California **

The modest home was nestled in the middle of a quiet block. From the outside, it appeared as though its lone occupant lived a humble life. He never threw raging parties, kept to himself. That was enough for the neighbors not to question the off-the-boat Irishman who never seemed to keep a regular schedule.

If only they knew inside that house, the garage was stocked full of assembled weapons, hundreds of thousands of rounds of ammunition, and enough explosives to wipe the small Northern California town clean off the map.

Those who lived in the neighborhood understood he made his money by working at the local military surplus store. They didn't have the slightest clue that the store he managed and dwelling he occupied, was bought and controlled by one the world's most ruthless paramilitary organizations.

On a Thursday night, long after the sunset behind the horizon, Edmond Hayes sat in the kitchen of the IRA safe house. A cold bowl of mashed potatoes went untouched, as well as the cup of Barry's tea he brewed nearly an hour ago. Nothing settled his nerves like a glass of tepid Jameson, which he opted for instead of a proper meal after the day he had.

Sitting on pins and needles, Eddie anxiously drank his whiskey. He didn't dare to take his eyes off the flip-phone resting in the center of the table. Getting hold of his boss back home was never an easy task, mainly because Jimmy O liked to make it complicated.

After his meeting with Jax Teller, Clay Morrow, and the rest of the outlaw motorcycle enthusiasts who comprised the Sons of Anarchy Redwood Original, Eddie sent Jimmy a message through the encrypted messaging tool WhatsApp. The text had been simple, concise, containing only the phone number to the burner Eddie bought at a 7-Eleven convenience store out near Stockton.

Nearly six hours after the urgent message was sent, Eddie scrambled to answer once the phone buzzed to life.

"What's the craic, mate?" Jimmy asked.

Eddie imagined the aging IRA leader standing inside a derelict barn somewhere in the Republic, hunched over a dusty workbench as he clenched the receiver of a land-line. It was just after four in the morning in Belfast, so it was hard for Eddie to gauge whether or not Jimmy was in a good mood.

"My Da and I pitched the new deal to Clay this mornin'."

"How'd that go? Did ya make it clear it's better in the long run?"

Hearing the slight slur of Jimmy's words was a bit unsettling. It was never a good sign if Jimmy was drinking, and arguably an even worse one if he was still blotto at such an hour. The butterflies in Eddie's stomach were working overtime tonight.

"Aye. They agreed to a deal."

"Brilliant," Eddie could hear him pause to take a drag from a cigarette, "what terms did they agree to?"

That's where things got messy. Very, very messy.

"Twenty-eight percent." Reaching out, Eddie grabbed his glass and knocked back the rest of the whiskey. "And they want the Russian surplus."

"You agreed to that?"

"Aye."

When the line went silent, he had a feeling that was because Jimmy was trying to figure out a way to reach through the phone and strangle him. During his tenure, he made foolish decisions, but this was by far the worst one he's ever made.

* * *

**Co. Donegal - Republic of Ireland **

Slamming down the receiver of the phone, Jimmy grabbed the Bushmills by the bottle's stubby neck. He hurled it against the wall, soaking the splintering wood in wasted whiskey and sending little shards of glass to the floor.

Donny pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering how in the hell the call turned sour so quickly. It sounded as though things weren't looking all that bad.

"Troubles across the pond?"

"That's an understatement," Jimmy huffed. He lit another cigarette, hoping the nicotine buzz would chill him out. "Turns out our American business partners were very persuasive about keepin' their access to the Russian stock, and wee Eddie agreed to give it to 'em."

That was a bigger problem than they expected.

"Shite. We don't even have access to the Russian hardware anymore."

_Thank you, Capitan Obvious,_ Jimmy thought.

"You know, you're not as stupid as ya look."

Donny took offensive to Jimmy's intentional jab. Reminding himself it was just in Jimmy's nature to be a mean son-of-a-bitch every hour of the day, he tried not to take it personally. Throwing insults back and forth wouldn't do anything to remedy the terrible situation they've been thrust into.

Taking a breath, Donny rolled up the sleeves of his sweater and took a seat on a bale of hay. "It may be difficult to see right now, but we're not totally fucked. We _can _get access to the AK's again…as long as we're willing to pay."

Jimmy's features tightened into a scowl when he realized where Donny going. Maintaining his integrity when it came to honoring business deals was something Jimmy took incredibly seriously. He would do just about anything to keep his name from being dragged through the mud. Nonetheless, Jimmy would rather blow his brains out than swallow his pride and crawl to Dessie on his hands and knees begging the ONH chief of staff to make a deal so SAMCRO could get what Eddie already promised.

"No way fuckin' way am I goin' to that prick.

Donny really couldn't blame Jimmy. The last time the two leaders sat across from one another, tempers flared which resulted in the True army losing their stronghold in Derry. At the rate Dessie was steaming rolling them and gaining more momentum than ever predicted, it kept Jimmy up at night thinking Belfast was slipping from his grasp. Making a distribution deal with Dessie for the surplus of their flood of Russian stock would only inflate the ego of the south Armagh man.

"What about Catherine?" suggested Donny. "Out of 'em all, she'd be the one more willin' to work a deal with us. For Filip, she'd put her gripes aside and make it happen."

"If I side-step Dessie and go right to Catherine, it'll only make me look a pussy. Like I'm fuckin' scared of him. Besides, she hates me so much she won't do me any favors."

"Then give 'em a damn good reason to meet ya halfway. Don't forget you've got somethin' Dessie desperately wants, and lettin' Catherine come back to Belfast will get her to set up the meetin' between youse."

Jimmy hated to admit Donny was right. If he wanted ONH to play ball and give him what he wanted, he needed to be willing to give back in return.

* * *

**Newry, Northern Ireland **

After three days in the Intensive Care Unit, Catherine was thrilled to be moved into a regular room. She could sleep without being woken up every two hours to have her vitals taken, and she no longer felt like she was in a fishbowl. The conditions were still less than ideal; all she wanted was to be home with her boys, get back to her life.

Half paying attention to a rerun of the Inbetweeners, Catherine poked at the sad plate food on the tray that was supposedly breakfast. The blood clot and seizures hadn't killed her, but she was convinced what they tried to pass off as food would. Setting the plastic fork down, Catherine pushed the tray away before curling up as best she could with the blanket.

Her incision still hurt like none other, and she missed snuggling up Eamonn and Sean. Dessie finally managed to convince Eamonn to visit her, though it didn't seem like a good idea in the end when he broke out into hysterical tears after realizing Catherine wouldn't be coming home with them. Sean would have been upset too if it weren't for the fact he knew his nights of playing Call of Duty with Dessie would come to a screeching halt once she was back.

Seeing the door pop open, she turned down the volume of the television. She was hoping Dessie and the boys would waltz in, but she instantly knew it wasn't them based on the lack of noise.

Much to her surprise, it was Jimmy.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Jimmy held up a recognizable paper bag decorated with golden arches, and two green and white takeaway coffees.

"I brought you real food," he said, setting down the bag and coffees on the tray by her bed before digging into it. He pulled out a hash brown and McMuffin for her. "Well, real by McDonald's standards. I did get you a strawberry milkshake too, but I drank it on the drive down here."

"That's not very nice of you." She wasted no time unwrapping her sausage McMuffin, never so excited in her life to consume fast food.

Plopping into the cushioned chair, Jimmy dove right into his meal and coffee. "I'm not a very nice person. You should know that by now."

For reasons Catherine couldn't explain, hearing him say that sent a dagger through her chest.

"You can be when you want to."

Jimmy ignored what she said, taking off the lid to his coffee so he could stir in the cream and sugar.

After Catherine stabbed him, he promised himself he would never forgive her. After he sliced open Dessie's face, she promised herself she would never forgive him. While hostilities were still running as high as ever, the only reason they were willing to put everything aside, for the time being, was because it reminded them of better days. And Catherine was so bored out of her mind, she wasn't going to turn away a visitor, even if the said visitor was Jimmy.

They sat in silence as they ate, watching the end of the Inbetweeners episode. Neither of them felt the need to fill the void space with a conversation, yet it was making them uncomfortable with how comfortable they felt being in the same room together.

"How long are they holdin' you hostage?" he wondered.

"Couple'a more days. They wanna make sure the clot is gone and see if I can stabilize my blood pressure without meds first."

"And Danny?"

Leaving Daisy Hill without Danny was a tough pill Catherine was having a hard time swallowing. She often found herself hoping that any minute she would wake up from this horrific nightmare, beside Dessie in bed and still pregnant.

"They said he'll be here a minimum of seven weeks," she grabbed her hash brown, laying back to take the pressure off her tender incision, "he's gotta be at least thirty-seven weeks gestational and weighs just over six pounds. He's not ready for a bottle yet, but when I saw him earlier he was going to town on his dummy."

Jimmy wasn't sure why he cared, but his curiosity got the better of him. "He look like you or Dessie?"

She shrugged. "Seein' as to how neither Eamonn or Sean look like me, Danny'll probably take after his da, too. He's already got a full head of dark brown hair, but he does have a cute wee button-nose like me. His eyes…his eyes are covered because the lights are too bright for him so I have no idea what color they are."

Her words were strangled with so many emotions, Jimmy wasn't sure which ones he could decipher first. Before she had a chance to break down in tears, he set down his food and moved over to the bed. Settling in, he wrapped her in his arms with her resting her head on his chest. She found the steady beat of his heart comforting. Taking a sharp breath, she became intoxicated by his amber, tobacco, and ginger cologne.

Being back in his arms, feeling the familiar warmth radiating from the embrace, made Catherine realize how much she missed him.

She didn't miss him in the romantic sense—far from it. She missed his comforting squeeze, the way he always made her feel that no matter what, she'd be okay.

"What happened to us, Jimmy?"

Running his fingers through the soft waves of her hair, he stared off into space. Deep in thought, Jimmy pondered her question carefully. What did happen to them? Looking back, it seemed like everything was fine until suddenly it wasn't. His biggest regret was bringing her to California all those years ago. That's where it all went wrong.

"Filip happened," he breathed. "You let him fill your head with nonsense and you got angry with me over things which aren't even true."

Catherine closed her eyes, trying to remember that trip. Most of it was a blur, except for the scar on her side which served as a constant reminder of the first time he lost his temper with her. By how angry he had gotten after finding out about her visit with Chibs, she wondered just how much of what her uncle said were lies.

When it became apparent he wasn't going to take responsibility on his part for the collapse of their romantic relationship, and rather throw all the blame onto someone who wasn't there to defend himself, she decided to drop it. There was no point in reopening barely healed wounds.

Taking her head off his chest, Catherine sat up despite the discomfort of her incision.

Moving back to the chair, Jimmy formulated the best way possible to bring up the real reason for his visit. He had to go about it delicately; upsetting Catherine from this moment on would only spell disaster. Maybe it was an asshole move, but he decided to play her soft spot for Chibs.

"You know that your uncle and I don't have a very amicable past; sort of like us," he started. "When I took over the position I'm in now, the hardest thing I had to do was accept that it meant playin' nice with Filip when I don't want to, because my main priority is keepin' a cordial partnership with SAMCRO. As much as I despise the Belfast Agreement, Adams, and McGuinness, one of the biggest lessons I learned durin' that transition period is how important diplomacy is. Especially with those you can hardly stand. Do you know why I promoted you to commander of the Belfast brigade?"

Catherine shook her head. She didn't know why. When it happened she guessed it was because she was doing everything Jimmy asked of her and was fucking up the least.

"I promoted you because I saw you could be diplomatic. You attempted to rebuild the bridge with Sinn Fein, you were fair, and you listened to and advocated for your men. You were the leader the lads needed in Belfast, and I promoted Dessie because he was the leader the lads in south Armagh needed."

"Why are you tellin' me this?"

Taking a deep breath, Jimmy rested his forearms on his knees and laced his fingers. "The other day, Eddie Hayes stupidly agreed to a deal with SAMCRO which includes giving 'em access to the Russian stock. I need those AK's to keep my partnership with the blokes, so I need Dessie to make a deal with us and I think you're the person to make that happen. This isn't me comin' to you as an ex-boyfriend or even as the father of your eldest son, Catherine; I really need your help. I'm beggin' you to put our past aside and help me as one soldier to another."

"What do you need from me?"

"Arrange a sit down with Dessie. If he agrees to it, you can come back to Belfast whenever you want."

Catherine buried her face in her hands trying to digest what Jimmy said. She hadn't been to Belfast since the day of Seamus' funeral and that wasn't a choice she made willingly on her own. As a consequence of her actions against Jimmy, she was ordered to stay off the streets she once called home. Hearing Jimmy say he was willing to lift the ban if she helped him was a no-brainer. She'd do anything for the chance to show her face north of Newry again.

Patrick always told Catherine if something seemed too good to be true, it probably is.

"What are the conditions?" she asked. "What I did…I understand you can't just let me back in without some strings."

Jimmy hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd been so preoccupied and worried about securing a deal with Dessie, the conditions in which Catherine had to abide by while in Belfast slipped through the cracks.

There were two options: limit her movement to only the stretch of the Falls Road or give her free reign over the city. It didn't matter how much he loved her, Jimmy didn't trust Catherine with a single bone in his body. Giving her access to North, South, East, and West Belfast meant running the risk of her and Dessie gaining the traction they sought to push the True army out.

But seeing her lying in bed looking so fragile and harmless reminded Jimmy of his once sweet Catherine Mary. Catherine who would fight beside him, not against him.

She gave him far too many second chances to count; maybe she deserved one, too.

"You get Dessie to the table, there are no strings."

"And if I can't?"

Jimmy reached out and placed his hand on Catherine's thigh, his fingers sliding dangerously inward. "Then you and I can work somethin' out. I wanna help you, and I know you wanna help me."


	76. Midnight Toker

Making his way through the front door, Jimmy stopped mid-stride when he looked over to find Fiona and Kerrianne on the couch. They were in their pajamas, curled up in plush blankets with a bowl of buttery popcorn between them.

A movie played on the television, their laughter coming to an abrupt end when they realized he'd be home for the night.

For a moment, Fiona and Jimmy held each other's gaze. Neither of them could stand to be the same room together, leaving Jimmy to wonder if he should walk right out the door to find another place to stay for the night. Before he could take a step back, he reminded himself this was his house. He paid the mortgage, paid the utilities, and his hard-earned money put food on the table.

If anyone were going to leave, it was going to be her.

Closing and locking the door, Jimmy went straight upstairs to their bedroom. The first thing he did was take off his suit jacket and shuck his shoes. As he tugged his shirt from the waistband of his trousers, he trekked across the hall to the bathroom to start the shower. At this point in the day, he couldn't care less about wrinkles in the Italian wool trousers so he stripped in the middle of the bathroom before stepping under the cascade.

Resting his forearms against the wall, Jimmy closed his eyes. The hot water did what it could to wash away the stress knotting the tight muscles in his back and shoulders. He relaxed his jaw which had been clenched since Eddie told him of the disastrous deal with SAMCRO, but it was something far different that had him wound up tighter than a snare drum.

No matter how hard Jimmy tried to shake it from his mind, he couldn't stop thinking about her. Once again Catherine figured out a way to burrow beneath his skin. When he saw her earlier in the day it looked as though her hair hadn't been washed in days, she was bloated from all the medications she'd been pumped full of, and her skin had broken out like that of a teenager.

And yet, she was as beautiful as ever.

In the darkness behind his eyelids, Jimmy imagined every one of her naked taut curves. He swore he could feel the softness of her skin on his fingertips. Remembering just how she bit her lip right before an orgasm drained the blood from his head to below his waist.

He missed her more than he ever thought he would. But then again, his yarning to press her head into the mattress as he plowed her from behind was more than likely a direct result of the fact he hadn't felt the warmth of a pussy in almost three months.

He didn't count the blow job he got a few weeks ago, seeing as to how he desperately wanted to forget it even happened. Not because it was unsatisfying - it was definitely in the top ten blow jobs he's ever had. He wanted to forget it because apparently, he had a specific taste when it came to woman, and as he came he accidentally called the redhead with an ample ass and heavy tits 'Catherine.'

In this undesirable dry spell, he couldn't bring himself to jerk off. Mainly because every time he got his hand wrapped around his cock, she was the first image to pop into his head. She was the last woman he wanted to cum to.

But having her in his arms for the first time in God knows how long, Jimmy realized there was no way he would ever be able to completely erase her from his life. It wasn't because she was the mother to his only child, rather because she was the most amazing woman to ever be in his life. She was cold and deceitful towards him for good reason. He fucked up what could have been a loving, stable relationship thanks to his insecurities. The moment things started getting comfortable, it was like an alarm went off in his head screaming at him to abort the mission.

To men like Dessie, commitment came easy when they had a good woman by their side. Jimmy envied that. It didn't matter how well any of his previous girlfriends treated him, he always found reasons to treat them subhuman. They could never do anything right; there was always something to yell at them for. He nitpicked Catherine just the same, but for some reason, she still stuck around.

Wishing she was there sharing the small space of the shower with him, Jimmy gave in to his carnal desire. Reaching for the bottle of conditioner Fiona kept on the high ledge of the glass door he squeezed a fair amount into his palm and curled his fingers around his stiffened cock. He closed his eyes and bit his lip, remembering how heavenly it felt to be buried inside Catherine.

* * *

Catherine sat on the edge of the bed, feeling helpless. She looked down to see the top of Dessie's head as he knelt to the floor to tie the checkered laces of her battered Chuck Taylors. There weren't enough words in the English, Irish, and Russian languages she could use to express to him how grateful she was for everything he's done while she was cooped up in Daisy Hill. He balanced work, the boys, and visiting her, doing it all with a smile even though she knew how stressed he was. Catherine was anxious to get back home so she could properly take care of her family.

Though, it still felt bitter for her to be going home today. Danny wasn't swaddled in her arms, bundled up to make the journey back to Crossmaglen with them. Leaving the hospital with empty arms and an empty belly was soul-crushing and defeating. The worst part of it all came when she and Dessie had to break the news to Eamonn and Sean their baby brother would be left behind for a little longer.

"Ya ready to ditch this place?" he asked while getting back up.

She groaned, "Yes! You have no idea how much I'm lookin' forward to sleepin' in my bed tonight. And I'm lookin' forward to bein' an absolute lazy shite with ya for the next two days."

Slinging the strap of her duffel bag over his shoulder, Dessie agreed with her on both counts. He too wouldn't wait to curl up with her in their bed and then spend the weekend doing nothing. Still in a fair amount of pain from surgery, Catherine wanted to partake in as little physical activity as possible. She wished they could start their weekend a day early, but Dessie couldn't afford to take off the entire day. After he dropped her off at home, she was looking forward to spending a few carefree hours with Eamonn and Sean before Patrick picked them up for a promised camping trip.

"Believe me, I'm lookin' forward to that, too," Dessie said, holding out his hand for Catherine to take so he could help her up. "Now let's get ya home, my love."

* * *

By the time Dessie walked through the door of the house he and Catherine were slowly turning into a home, it was late evening. He was drained from work on top of running through his list of meetings.

Before leaving to pick up Catherine from the hospital, Connor dropped by the house. Over tea and cigarettes, they negotiated the final plans for a punishment beating on a local lad who was accused of stealing a car.

During his lunch break, he met with Kieran for a pie at the Cross Square Hotel in Crossmaglen. They discussed the latest intel the security unit had collected on Rory since he up and left Northern Ireland after Dessie was arrested on information that could have only come from the former True army intelligence officer. They had a hunch Rory hadn't completely jumped off the isle just yet. Turned out his wife was more loyal to the cause and every time she received a call or a cheque in the mail from him, she turned every clue to his location over to ONH.

On his way home, Dessie joined Aidan and Jack for a pint. They spent most of the time talking about the newly acquired players by the Rangers. As he downed the last mouthfuls of his beer, he casually mentioned - using a series of coded words - that he wanted them to lead the team on collecting the shipment of guns and cigarettes coming in from Eastern Europe the following night.

In the foyer Dessie kicked off his boots, smiling like an idiot. He could hear Catherine from the kitchen as she sang along to _99 Luftballons _inbroken German. Even if the moment was only fleeting, Dessie was thankful she seemed to be doing somewhat okay for now. He expected to find her sitting in the rocking chair in the half-finished nursery.

The night was still young.

Strolling into the kitchen, Dessie made as little noise as possible while he stood in the doorway. Seeing her dance around the kitchen as she made dinner almost seemed surreal. Ten days with her gone were pure hell. And not just because he balanced the weight of the world on his shoulders. Rather, for the first time in life, Dessie felt like half a person. Catherine being gone meant he was without his best friend, his partner in crime, the absolute love of his life.

Life could start to slowly get back to normal now, and he reminded himself in two short months their family would be complete once they brought Danny home.

"You're home!" Catherine squealed excitedly as she paused her iPod. Dropping the wooden spoon on the counter beside the stove, she practically skipped to Dessie and wrapped her arms around his neck.

It had been so long since they last had a proper hug, the feeling of being back in each other's arms was like none other. They appreciated the moment.

When they pulled apart, Dessie gathered her face in his hands and planted about half a dozen kisses on her cheeks, forehead, and lips.

"Did your da come by and get the boys?"

"Aye. They were so excited. I made him promise me there would be no teachin' 'em how to use pistols or rifles. Not yet anyway."

Dessie chuckled and asked her how much longer until the food was ready. She glanced over her shoulder eying the doughy soda bread farls she had frying on the stove.

"Like twenty minutes."

"Perfect," he said, closing his mouth over hers for another kiss. "I'm gonna jump in the shower."

"Please do," she giggled, "I love ya, but ya smell god-awful."

Catherine set her fork down and folded her hands, resting her chin on her knuckles. She looked at Dessie unsure if she could bring herself to ruin their first night together, but Jimmy stopping by the hospital was something she couldn't keep from him any longer.

"Jimmy came to see me."

Just hearing that name sent a chill of indignation down Dessie's spine. He dropped his fork and ran a hand through his hair trying to stay as calm as possible.

"When?"

"Three days ago."

"Three days ago? You hid it from me for three goddamn days?"

Catherine could feel her cheeks grow hot at having been confronted. This was the exact reaction she expected in general and the reason she waited to tell him. It only would have made things more tense and uncomfortable if she told him while still at Daisy Hill.

"I didn't say anything because he came to talk about business. I wanted to wait until we were in a place where we could freely talk about it."

"The fuck did he want? He didn't lay a finger on you, did he? I knew I should've told Mickey to stay with you."

"He was surprisingly calm the entire time," she said. "He…he wanted me to ask you for a meeting. Eddie fucked up in Northern Cali and told SAMCRO they could have the Russian surplus-"

Dessie jumped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer in the ring.

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?" he shouted. "He carves my face half to bloody hell and then expects me to give him access to _my_ surplus? He's a fuckin' halfwit, so he is. I ain't doin' it, no fuckin' way."

Catherine stood and rested her hands on the table. "This has nothin' to do with Jimmy. We took SAMCRO's only source of rifles, which they use as income, too. We need to make this right, Dessie."

Dessie lit a cigarette, beyond irritated Catherine was even trying to push him in the direction of actually meeting with Jimmy.

"I don't give a shite about Jimmy, and I don't give a shite about the bloody Sons of Anarchy either. If they want AK's, they can get 'em elsewhere because we're not in the business of sellin' guns."

"Jimmy promised this wouldn't be anything permanent. He needs only a few months' supply from us to keep the lads in Cali happy until he can find a distributor. Please, please take the meeting. I'm askin' ya to, for Filip."

Dessie took a drag from the cigarette as he stared deep into Catherine's eyes. He could sense there was more to the story than she was alluding to and he couldn't figure what or why she was keeping something from him. This was the first time he saw her defend the True army's deal with SAMCRO as she always believed they could find someone else to pay higher prices for the stock.

He crushed the cigarette in the ashtray then folded his arms across his chest. "Why do you want me to meet with Jimmy?"

"I told you why."

"I'm not playin' your fuckin' game, Catherine. I've got enough on my fuckin' shoulders now that I have Danny to worry about because you couldn't even manage to take care of yourself for nine-goddamn-months. I don't have time to try and figure out why you're pushin' to get Jimmy and me in the same room when that man has done everything in his power to bring us down."

She thought they were over the blame game, agreeing this entire situation was no one's fault. That wasn't the case.

Realizing her initial plan to try to convince him by using Chibs as an excuse wasn't going to work, Catherine had no other choice but to tell him the real reason.

"If you just agree to meet with him, he said he'll let me go to Belfast whenever I want. No strings attached."

"He is such a tool," Dessie said, shaking his head. "Do you have any idea what kind of position this puts me in?"

"Aye, that's why I didn't bring it up! I don't want you to feel like you have to."

"No, I do have to. Because unlike him, I don't see you like a fuckin' pawn in the bullshit mind games he gets off on playing. Even though your life is here with me now, your home is still Belfast and it would make me the biggest arse in the world if my actions kept you from being able to go there again." Grabbing his pack of smokes off the counter, Dessie stuffed them into his back pocket. He crossed the kitchen where he grabbed his keys and wallet off the top of the fridge. "Let him know to pick the day and I'll arrange for a safe house outside Norn Iron."

It took Catherine a second for it to register that Dessie was walking towards the front door. She dashed after him, tears bubbling in her eyes as she watched him slip on his boots.

"Where you goin?"

"Forkhill for a couple of days," he apathetically mumbled. Bending down, he tied the laces.

"A couple of days? Why? This is my first night back, Dessie; I don't wanna be here alone."

"Because I need space to think, okay?" he snapped.

"What's there to think about?"

Catherine's voice was shaky and thick with panic, which Dessie somehow seemed to miss.

"For starters, how I'm gonna deal with this mess with Jimmy, and then I'm gonna see my son."

Before she had a chance to get another word in or stop him from leaving, Dessie was out the door. He slammed it shut behind him, causing the picture frames nailed to the wall to shake.

Drained of all emotion, she didn't have it in her to run out after him and convince him not to go. Maybe time apart wasn't such a bad idea. Or at least that's what she tried to convince herself.

* * *

Jimmy came home after a long day to find Catherine sitting cross-legged on his couch. She was dressed in joggers, a zipped up sweatshirt twice her size with the hood pulled over her head. He caught her with her hand digging inside a box of Coco Pops as she watched trashy late-night television.

For a brief moment, it felt like 1996. A couple of times when Catherine was a teenager, Jimmy busted her playing hooky because she snuck into his house under the impression he and Fiona would be away until at least four o'clock.

Never once did he tell Patrick about her self-appointed days off. Once or twice he wrote her excuse notes.

For reasons he couldn't necessarily explain, Jimmy always appreciated the fact he was Catherine's safety zone; the one she turned to when she needed an escape from real life. At sixteen she looked to avoid the pressures of academia, the neverending headaches which came along with the bullshit of being a teenage girl. Now thirty with three children, a husband, and the responsibilities of maintaining the cash flow of a designated terror organization, it wasn't so hard for Jimmy to believe even now she still needed to play hooky once in a blue moon.

And maybe he did, too.

Closing the front door behind him, Jimmy said nothing as he crossed the length of the family room. Catherine swallowed her mouthful of chewed cereal, no longer paying attention to the television. Rather, she focused on the slight scuff sound Jimmy's Oxfords made along the hardwood floor. She was thoroughly convinced he had every intention of rag-dolling her - slapping her around a few times. After all, she did technically break in and it was safe to say their relationship still hadn't returned to the pre-Glasgow smile days.

Nevertheless, Catherine hung on to a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, her latest hospital stay was the turning point to better times.

Halfway between the door and the couch, Jimmy shed his Hugo Boss suit jacket not caring the wool garment - which set him back six-hundred pounds - landed in a ball when he tossed it onto a chair. Catherine almost jumped up to save the jacket from a wrinkled fate knowing just how particular he was about keeping his German and Italian made suits in pristine condition. It was Jimmy's blasé attitude keeping her unmoved.

He plopped down on the couch beside her. Catherine didn't question it for a second when he draped an arm along her shoulders. Instinctively, she rested her head against him, feeling surprisingly more relaxed now than she had in the hours by herself.

Jimmy snatched the box of Coco Pops from between her legs and put it the middle of them before diving in for a handful of the overly sweetened breakfast treat. Between Catherine's head tucked into the crook of his shoulder, the mind-numbing nonsense of the reality show, and overall peaceful ambiance amongst the two, he decided there would be no more business for the night. Doing nothing but melting his brain and rotting his insides with junk food with the one woman he truly loved more than life was all he wanted.

"Where the boys?" he asked, funneling cereal into his mouth.

"With my Da and brother. They took 'em campin' for the weekend."

Jimmy didn't want to know the answer to his next question, yet for some reason, he couldn't stop himself from asking.

"And that husband of yours? Find it hard to believe he's lettin' you wander about Belfast all by your-wee-self."

She rolled her eyes; thankfully he didn't see. She debated whether or not to tell him the truth or feed him some bullshit excuse about how he was in the Republic for the weekend doing business. But what was the point? If she started lying about the riffs in her marriage now, that would only give Jimmy ammunition later to say 'I told you so,' if it fell apart.

"Forkhill," she said with embarrassment. "We're takin' a couple'a days apart."

Jimmy couldn't help his mocking laughter, which almost brought Catherine to tears.

"Trouble in paradise already? Its been what? A month since yous got married?"

"It's not trouble." Catherine hated the fact she now had to defend her marriage to Jimmy, of all people. "We just had a baby ten weeks early and he's not happy about you comin' to me to ask for a meetin' because he feels like it's putting him in an awkward position. Just a lot of stress is all."

Hearing Danny's early birth was causing tension in her and Dessie's relationship surprisingly hit Jimmy harder than he expected. The arrival of a child was supposed to a joyous time. Instead, overwhelming pain and uncertainty were swelling in their home, and he couldn't even begin to imagine how it was tearing Catherine apart.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to-"

Catherine cut him off, "Don't be sorry for anything that goes on in my life. I don't need your pity. And by the way, Dessie agreed to meet with you; I wanted to tell you in person. He told me to tell you to pick a date, and he'll pick the location. Somewhere neutral, outside of True army and ONH territory."

Jimmy cleared his throat, setting the box of Coco Pops on the coffee table before jumping to his feet. He strolled in the direction of the stairs.

"Come with me," he instructed. "And bring the cereal with ya."

With the box tucked under her arm, Catherine stood in the doorway of the bedroom Jimmy shared with Fiona. Of course, the bed was made, with the pillows perfectly fluffed, absolutely zero clutter, and not a single trace of dust to be found.

She nervously rolled her bottom lip between her teeth trying to figure out why in the hell he summoned her upstairs, to his bedroom, nonetheless. He was rummaging through the drawers of his dresser.

"You can come in," Jimmy said over his shoulder. He casually tossed his thumb in the direction of the bed. "Sit."

Reluctantly, Catherine scuffled into the room. She set the box of cereal on Fiona's nightstand and sat on the bed, tucking one ankle under her knee. Her stomach twisted with so many unresolved emotions. The last time she had been in Jimmy's bedroom was when she was pregnant with Eamonn and they fought so badly it resulted in them not speaking for years.

The time before that she was nineteen; Fiona had taken Kerrianne to Paris for a holiday. It was the only time she and Jimmy ever had sex on that bed. Catherine wondered if Fiona knew.

When Jimmy found what he was looking for, he rolled up the sleeves of his blue-gray shirt to his elbows.

"No more talk of business or Dessie, or Fiona, or even Eamonn. For the rest of the night we're gonna relax like old times, and then tomorrow we can go back to hating each other."

Catherine smiled and chuckled. "What are you hidin' behind your back, O'Phelan?"

The corner of Jimmy's mouth curled into a mischievous grin. Onto the bed, he threw down a small Zip-Lock bag. Catherine picked it up. Her jaw nearly fell to the ground when she realized what Jimmy had been hiding in his underwear drawer.

"And where did you get these?" she asked, holding up the bag with two joints inside.

After grabbing a lighter, Jimmy laid down on the bed sideways. At first, he ignored her question just taking the bag from her hands and fishing out a joint. He tucked it into the corner of his mouth.

"O'Keefe found a bunch on a lad after they shot him. He gave 'em to me and I may have kept 'em for myself."

The stark difference between Dessie and Jimmy had never been so obvious for Catherine. Despite Dessie's hypocritical, dangerous habit of mixing half a handful of narcotic painkillers with copious glasses of whiskey, he made it clear under his command the sale and procurement of dime bags of any kind in counties Armagh, Tyrone, Derry, and the southern portion of Down, wouldn't be tolerated by Oglaigh na hEireann.

Belfast under Jimmy's iron fist was a little more liberal. He often turned a blind eye to those seeking an herbal form of stress relief, though he had zero tolerance for anything else.

He lit the joint, and then took a long drag. He held the smoke deep in his lungs for several seconds and exhaled. Not once did he cough. It was the first time in thirty years she saw him smoke anything other than a Marlboro and Catherine struggled to accept the sight before her.

Considering how high-strung he was, she wanted to tell him he wasn't smoking enough.

Jimmy held the joint out to her. Her gaze ping-ponged between him and the joint clasped between his fingers. A part of her wondered if this was meant to be a peace offering as he knew exactly how staunchly anti-drug Dessie and Patrick were. All Jimmy would have to do was tell Dessie she took a single hit and she'd be scrubbing rusty bullets in no time. She guessed it was mutually assured destruction to prevent her from opening her mouth about having been sixteen when their sexual relationship ignited.

"C'mon," he urged. "I know you've done it at least once in your life and I promise I won't say anything."

Licking her dry lips, Catherine pushed the hood off. She knew for a fact Dessie planned to spend his weekend alone at the bottom of a bottle of Powers, so she shook off the feeling that she was doing something wrong. If that's how he wanted to unwind, then this is how she was going to.

Taking the joint from Jimmy, she took a drag. It had been nearly a year since she last smoked with Chibs in Oakland and as expected she made herself look like a rookie. Smoke poured from her mouth as she broke out into a coughing fit.

Determined to not let the joint beat her, Catherine inhaled again. This time she didn't cough.

It was just like riding a bike.


	77. The Ruin of a Poor Girl

"I thought you said no talk of business, Fiona, or Dessie tonight," Catherine challenged.

With bloodshot and glassy eyes, Jimmy tried his best to contort his smile into a stern expression, but it was difficult when he remembered how earlier she pointed out the fact there were more nipples in the world than people. He ignored her question, rather breaking out into laughter when he noticed the phallic-shaped cheese dust stain on the collar of his shirt.

Catherine too started laughing, only because she couldn't take Jimmy seriously when he'd been sitting on the floor for the last half-hour elbow deep in a party size bag of Doritos.

"Kerri will kill ya if you demolish that entire package of Oreos," warned Jimmy.

"Well too bad." In her impaired state of mind, Catherine lacked the basic empathy she normally felt. "I'm sad, and sugar and chocolate are the only things that make me feel better."

"I don't think you'll find the answer to happiness at the end of a row of Oreos."

Catherine shoved an entire cookie into her mouth. "You tryin' to say I'm fat, O'Phelan?"

"Jesus Christ," he muttered, rolling the Dorito bag closed and moving from the floor to the bed. He snatched the package of cookies off Catherine's lap and took a couple out for himself. "No, I'm in no way trying to tell you you're fat. You had a baby a week ago, so I know that the belly you've got right now will be deflated soon."

Grabbing the accent pillow, Catherine whipped it at him. He caught it before it could smack him on the chest, and he playfully whacked her on the head with it.

Not wanting to give much thought about Danny, Catherine tried to move the conversation in another direction. She reached out and brushed away the Dorito crumbs clinging to his shirt.

"You're worse than Eamonn."

Knocking her hand away, Jimmy rolled his eyes. "I know I said no talk of Eamonn either, but how's he doin'? He likin' it down in Cross?"

Catherine nodded. "Aye. And he misses the shite outta you, so he does. I swear he's asked about you at least once a day since we moved."

Hearing his son missed him as much as he missed Eamonn made Jimmy feel even worse about his fractured relationship with Catherine. He was man enough to admit it was his mistakes barring him from seeing Eamonn, but he wasn't man enough to put the work in to make anything change.

"Well, I miss the shite outta him, too. And I miss you, even though you did stab me."

"Ya bloody deserved it," Catherine said.

Jimmy held up his hands defensively. "I'm not sayin' I didn't, because I know I did. That's why when I found out the lads were tryin' to wipe south Armagh off the map I put an end to it. And I convinced the Kings not to issue an exile order against you and Dessie."

"Believe it or not, I do feel bad. Bottoming out the blade was a bit excessive, I suppose."

"Ya should feel bad," Jimmy mumbled through a mouthful of Oreo. "You fuckin' hit muscle. Took nearly fifty stitches to close the wound and the antibiotics I was on knocked me on my ass for like two weeks."

Catherine furrowed her brow, slightly impressed she managed to sink the blade that deep into his leg. In the heat of the moment, she hadn't been purposefully trying to do that. All she wanted to do was incapacitate him long enough to give her a chance to escape.

Her morbid curiosity got the best of her. "Can I see it?"

"You wanna see the scar you gave me?"

Catherine nodded.

Jimmy thought for a second on whether or not he should show her. He didn't want to boost her maniacal confidence, allowing her to think she could bring him down for good if God-forbid they were to find themselves in that situation again. In retrospect, he shouldn't have said anything on the degree of how bad it had been. Rather, he should have played it off like it was nothing more than the dozens of flesh wounds he received in the past.

As she looked at him with reddened eyes and pupils the size of dinner plates, Jimmy realized he couldn't say no. Not when he knew indulging her morbid request would make her happy. All he wanted to do at this point was to make her happy.

Tossing his half-eaten cookie down on the crumb covered quilt, Jimmy hoisted off the bed. Catherine bit her lower lip as she watched his hands go right for his belt. She hyper-focused on the way his fingers curled around the leather strap as he pulled it free from the buckle and prongs. Her heart began to race the second the button came undone. When Jimmy untucked his shirt and started dropping his trousers, she went lightheaded. Not because she was uncomfortable; far from it. Watching him partially undress brought back too many fond memories that Catherine wished would vanish.

The last thing she ever wanted was to be reminded of the good times they shared. How his fingers and tongue could wreak euphoric havoc on her mind, body, and soul.

"It's pretty much completely healed."

Jimmy pulled Catherine back to reality. She shook any thought of their past out of her head and brought her attention to the scar he wore on his outer thigh. It didn't look as bad as Catherine thought it would. Not to mention it was a lot smaller than she imagined, too.

Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, she brought the tips of her fingers to it. As she grazed the puffy pink tissue, Jimmy could feel her long, oval-shaped nails softly scratch his skin. He dipped his head back and took a deep breath, thinking about what Margaret Thatcher might look like naked to keep down his inevitable erection.

It wasn't the two bands around her left ring finger keeping Jimmy from pushing Catherine onto her back and sinking five inches into her. He was smart enough to understand one week postpartum after a C-section nonetheless, it meant she was in nowhere near being physically ready for that sort of activity.

"Whoever sutured you did a good job," Catherine noted. "The first half of that blade is serrated so-"

Jimmy interrupted, "You've no idea how jagged the wound was; talk about a bitch to close. If I would have known you'd end up usin' the goddamn thing on me, I would've gotten you a straight blade instead."

At least he's making jokes, Catherine thought. That's a good sign.

Leaning back on her elbows, she swallowed the guilt that has been eating away at her since it happened.

"You know I am sorry for what I did."

Dessie once told her to never apologize; Jimmy deserves everything he has coming. That included Catherine finally standing up for herself. He also told her she shouldn't waste a second of her time feeling sorry for a man who didn't feel the slightest bit contrite after leaving Dessie's face mutilated. While she wholeheartedly agreed, she couldn't tell Dessie that to some degree he was wrong – she should feel remorse.

There was a major difference between her and Jimmy. What separated Catherine from being labeled with the same monstrous reputation Jimmy wore with pride, was the fact that unlike him, she felt empathy. If the day were to come where she no longer possessed sympathy for the sins she committed, she'd rather put an end to her life than see her destruction ruin those around her.

Jimmy re-tucked his shirt and buckled his belt again. He wasn't exactly sure what to say to her. What made this entire situation an absolute cluster-fuck was his inability to wholly hate Catherine. He wouldn't be too hard on himself – seeing as to how he was still capable of loving at least two people meant perhaps, he wasn't a complete sociopath after all.

"I know you are." Jimmy sat on the bed next to her, placing his hand on her knee. Her gaze darted between his eyes and his hand. Every time she looked at him, he saw the fresh, faint scar across the bridge of her nose and it killed him to know it hadn't been put there by Patrick or Dessie. "It's…it's water under the bridge, okay?"

She nodded.

"Are you really happy with ONH?" he asked. "Like genuinely; are you happy?"

"I am. Why do you ask?"

He shrugged. "It just seems to me you've been lettin' people put the wrong ideas in your head, a chuisle. They're tryin' to make enemies outta you and me – trying to make you believe that just because we're part of two different organizations, we're not on the same team anymore. Don't you ever forget that we are. No matter what Dessie, your da, or even Filip says, we have to be united in our fight."

"What are you gettin' to?"

"I want you back in the True army-"

"No," she asserted, standing up. "I'm not comin' back. Not when I'm sittin' on the council of ONH and the Kings are still in charge."

"Why did Dessie remove you as his adjutant?"

Jimmy watched the color drain from Catherine's face. Very few people outside of the ONH leadership circle was privy to their inner workings. The smug smirk he gave her made Catherine's stomach twist.

She stammered, "How-how do you know about that?"

Standing, Jimmy closed the space between them. He crossed his arms over his chest, a clear attempt to assert his dominance despite Catherine technically having a higher rank than he would probably ever achieve.

"When are you gonna learn nothin' happens in the six counties without me knowin' about it?"

_You didn't know Dessie and I were plotting against you, _she thought.

But if Jimmy knew what was being said and what changes were being made behind closed doors, Catherine worried he wasn't the only one.

"Who bloody told you?"

"Rory," he said. "After Dessie was arrested last month, he came to me. Offered to exchange ONH intelligence for protection and documents so he can get out of here."

Catherine went dizzy with fury. "I swear to God, Jimmy, if you gave him safe-passage outta Ireland, you can fuckin' forget about a meetin' with Dessie-"

"Mother'a Christ," Jimmy callously bellowed. "Don't be so quick to get your knickers in a knot there, Catherine. Do you think I'd give him a passport? Bollocks. Besides our fondness of your stubborn ass, the only other thing Dessie and I have in common is a dislike for touts. Rory's safe and warm at a house over the border. He thinks we're gettin' him all the documents. I was gonna have my crew handle him, but I'm willing to include him in a deal with Dessie."

"Were you even gonna tell us he's slippin' you our intel?"

Jimmy sat down on the edge of the bed and picked up the half-smoked joint from the ashtray. He lit it and took a drag, offering it to Catherine. She declined.

"Nope."

"You're a real fuckin' bastard, ya know that?"

"Aye. Fiona reminds me every day." He took another drag. "I have no idea why Dessie bumped you as adjutant for Kieran, and honestly I don't give a shite. But, what I do know is that you've earned adjutant. So here's my offer – if you come back to the True army, the position is yours. Things aren't gonna work in the long run with Donny; I need someone who knows how I think."

Catherine had no intention of taking the job, she just wanted to know his motivation behind bringing her back.

"Give me one good reason why I should come back as your adjutant."

"Because we still love each other and together we can lead an unstoppable army."

Catherine's eyes fluttered, uninvited tears slipping down her cheeks.

"I don't love you, Jimmy."

Hearing her say those words hurt more than any stab or gunshot wound ever would. Swallowing hard, Jimmy set the joint back in the ashtray.

"You do, a chuisle. If you didn't, you never would've come here tonight. You knew Fiona and Kerrianne are gone for the weekend. You easily could've gone to your parents or even your brother's flat, but you chose to come here because you wanted to see me."

Catherine repeated, "I don't love you. Just let me go, please."

"Just let you go?" he roared, jumping to his feet. "I kept my distance when you made it abundantly clear you wanted a sexual relationship with me, but you chased me around like I was the goddamn Beatles for seven months until I finally cracked! I never wanted anything between us to get as far as it did. You pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and yeah, eventually I fell so fucking hard in love with you that nothin' bloody made sense to me anymore. After eight years of being in a relationship, you just woke up one morn' and decided you don't love me anymore. That didn't happen to me, Catherine. So no, I can't just let you go."

"I didn't wake up one mornin' and decide I wasn't gonna love you anymore! I poured every morsel of love and energy I had into makin' our relationship work. I accepted the fact you're never gonna leave Fiona. I was fine being the mistress because at least then I had a piece of you. But after what happened in Cali, I broke. I refuse to be the human-sandbag for you to take your frustrations out on."

"What do you fuckin' want from me? What do you want me to do to prove I won't do that shite to you anymore?"

"I don't want you to do anything! I grew up and realized you're never gonna change. You tell me that you will, but the second somethin' happens you don't like, you lose your temper! I don't deserve to be treated like shite, and I can't trust you won't take it out on Eamonn, too."

Jimmy pointed his index finger at Catherine. "I'll never hit my son."

"But you have no problem hittin' the mother of your son, huh," she scoffed. Looking at her watch, Catherine couldn't believe it was after midnight. "It's late and all we're doin' is beating a dead horse by keepin' this conversation going. I'm gonna head out."

Jimmy followed Catherine out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

"You're not drivin' back to Cross when you're baked," Jimmy asserted. "Crash in Kerri's bed for the night."

At the front door, Catherine slipped on her sneakers.

"I'm not goin' back to Cross," she lied. "I'm gonna walk over to Brien's and sleep there."

As she walked into the kitchen to slip out the back door, he still followed her.

"Let me at least walk with you so I know you get there safe."

Irritated enough with Jimmy, the last thing Catherine wanted right now was to spend more time with him.

"I lived in the Short Strand, remember? I think I can manage. Goodnight, Jimmy."

When Catherine grabbed the doorknob, Jimmy acted quickly. She may have thought their conversation was over, but he still had a lot more to say. Reaching out, he captured her wrist to pry her hand off the knob.

"Let go of my wrist, seriously. I'm sore and I'm tired. I don't wanna play games with you."

"Hear me out," he pleaded.

"Fine," she said, and Jimmy dropped her wrist.

Catherine was sure the only reason she stayed relaxed was because of the joint. Letting go of the doorknob, she was taken by surprise when he pushed her against the wall. Any other time she would have been a panicking mess, but she told herself so long as she stayed calm, so would he.

When she didn't fight back, Jimmy dipped his head and captured her lips in a tender kiss. Catherine's eyes fluttered and closed, her hands darting straight for his sides. She curled her fingers into his shirt at the same time he pulled her in closer.

It was satisfying for Jimmy to feel her utterly melt into him. Resentment and hatred towards one another often wedged them apart, but he felt ten-feet tall seeing he still had the same effect on her after all these years.

'_Dessie who?' _he laughed in his head, gently slipping his tongue past her lips. The kiss tasted of her salty tears and the deep-seated affection which hadn't faded in the slightest.

The moment Jimmy's tongue brushed against hers, Catherine began screaming to herself to pull away, run, and never look back. Yet for some reason, she couldn't. The claws of their vicious love affair were sinking deep into her heart and brain, draining every ounce of common decency and sense.

Catherine hated Jimmy for the way he amorously kissed her, making her feel like they were the only two people existing on Earth. He was gentle with her, bringing Catherine back to the fateful Christmas Day over a decade ago when she lost her virginity to him.

Jimmy quickly caught on to the fact he wasn't the only one feeling the white-hot flame of their torrid romance rekindling. There was too much history between them for Jimmy to allow Catherine to just walk away from him again. He promised himself he would fight harder for her this time; force her to see he was the superior choice over Dessie.

Pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers and brushed the tip of his nose along the bridge of her nose.

"Stay the night with me, Catherine," he whispered. "Make me the happiest man alive and let me fall asleep with you in my arms."

Those words broke her. The reality of what just happened slapped her hard across the face. She shook her head, a fresh round of tears vehemently bursting from her eyes.

"I can't," she croaked.

He hated how distraught she sounded.

"Why not? Why can't you?"

Placing her hands on Jimmy's chest, Catherine shoved him back to put desperately needed space between them.

"I can't because I married Dessie. I fall asleep in his arms now and forever, not yours anymore and you know that."

Jimmy clenched his teeth so hard Catherine could see the muscles in his jaw flexing. She hit an exposed nerve without realizing it.

He snapped, "If you go home tonight, is he gonna be there waiting for you in bed? Or are you gonna crawl in alone and cry yourself to sleep while clutching his pillow?"

"That's not fair," she shouted back. "I told you exactly why Dessie is in Forkhill. Every relationship has its share of ups and downs. We love each other so much that we know we just have to wait out the downs because the ups are so worth it to us."

He stayed quiet. Watching his eyes grow wickedly dark made Catherine crawl out of her skin with anxiety.

"You think Dessie loves you as much as you love him?" he taunted, moving closer. Catherine wanted to scream when she saw she was cornered between him and the wall. "The first night you're home from the hospital after having been there for ten days, he fuckin' bolted because he didn't wanna fight. We fought all the goddamn time, but neither one of us never left in the middle of an argument because we knew it was worth it."

"I know he loves me as much as I love him. You and I both know Dessie never walks away from a fight. Him staying in Forkhill has nothin' to do with how we feel about each other. He was taking care of everything while I was in the hospital, and then I came home and dropped the mother-of-all-bombs on him. He's stressed; he needs space to decompress and just fuckin' process what's happened."

"Stop defending him! A real man never would've left his wife to crawl into a bottle while she's dealin' with the shite you are."

Catherine balled her hands into fists, trying to hold down the bubbling anger threatening to explode.

"I will never stop defending Dessie," she snarled. "He's done nothin' wrong here."

Her tone was far too calm, making Jimmy uncomfortable. He quickly glanced around the kitchen, making sure there was nothing within her arms reach she could use to stab him.

"I love you so much." Jimmy drove his fingers into her hair, pressing his forehead to hers again. "I love everything about you. Your beautiful eyes, cute wee nose, and lips I could kiss all day. The way you tap the pen to your nose when you're doin' the crossword in the _Telegraph_. How you can't go to bed unless the dishes and laundry are done. And I even love how fuckin' stubborn ya are."

Catherine wanted no part of this conversation anymore. Grabbing his wrists, she tried to push him away but this time he wouldn't budge.

"You were an amazing girlfriend to me, and you're a wonderful mother to our son. You have no idea how big your heart is and I know you still have so much love left to give to me, even though I don't deserve it."

"Please just let me go," she begged, tears now streaming uncontrollably. "I married Dessie because I love him. I don't love you anymore."

Gripping the roots of her hair a little tighter, Jimmy snared, "Stop saying you don't love me anymore when we both know it's a lie!"

His tone turning defiant told Catherine she needed to gain control before things took a turn. Cupping his cheeks in her hands, she brushed her lips against his and then kissed him.

She knew there was nothing right about what she was doing, but her only goal was making it out of there unscathed.

Breaking the kiss, Catherine ignored the sudden wave of nausea.

"I have to go, Jimmy," she whispered. "It'll be trouble for both of us if the wrong person sees me leavin' here. Dessie has eyes everywhere, too."

Untangling his fingers from her hair, Jimmy took Catherine's hand and kissed her knuckles. "Can I see you again? And Eamonn?"

Now she thought she was going to be sick.

Apprehensive, Catherine nodded.

"Thank you." He kissed her forehead before stepping back. "Let Dessie know I'll give him a bell either Sunday night or Monday morn' with a date for us to meet."

* * *

Arriving at the farmhouse in Forkhill, Catherine was surprised to find all the lights on inside. Dropping her purse and keys on the couch, she headed into the kitchen. Dessie's gym bag was on the counter, and by how the floor was rumbling and quaking under her feet she knew exactly what he was up to.

Rummaging through his bag, Catherine found his blender bottle along with the half dozen containers of powdered supplements he added to his protein. She mixed him up a shake and headed down into the basement.

As suspected, she found him in a back corner, passed the folding tables littered with empty coffee jars, rusty nails, and canvas bags of fertilizer, going to town on the Everlast heavy-bag suspended from the ceiling. He was in the zone, undoubtedly pretending his opponent was Jimmy, not a punching bag.

Catherine held the blender bottle in both of her hands, smiling as she watched Dessie match his footwork and jabs to the fast-paced beat of the blaring Metallica. He was shirtless, wearing only shorts and sneakers. Under the lights, she could see the glistening sheen of sweat covering his tattooed skin. Jimmy was nowhere near her mind as she watched the muscles in his back ripple with every punch he threw.

When Dessie worked his way around the bag, he nearly had a heart attack after looking up to see he was no longer alone. Catherine was the last person he expected to show up, considering he majorly fucked by leaving when he shouldn't have.

Dessie had driven less than a mile outside of Crossmaglen when he realized he was making a mistake. But he was just as stubborn as Catherine so there was no way in hell he could go back after making such a show about spending the weekend away from her. He planned to go home in the morning, not without flowers because he had an inkling she was beyond angry with him.

The weight of the world seemed to float off his shoulders at the sight of Catherine standing there. Seeing how she mixed him a chocolate protein shake made him feel like even more of an ass.

Unsure of what to say exactly, he said the first thing that came to mind, "You scared the shite outta me."

"I made you a shake," she said over the music, holding it out. "But if you're not done, I can put it in the fridge. Don't feel like you have to stop just because I'm here…I can leave if you want me to."

Now that his physical exhaustion matched how he felt emotionally and mentally, he was ready to call it a night. Using his teeth, Dessie peeled back the Velcro strap around his right wrist so he could free his hand from the glove. He tossed it to the ground and quickly took off the other one before turning off the music.

Trekking over to Catherine, he accepted the shake she held out to him. He mixed it for a second and popped the lid, stopping before he took the first sip.

"Don't worry, I'm not trying to poison you."

The corner of Dessie's mouth curled into a smirk. "That's exactly what I'd expect you to say if you were tryin' to poison me."

"I promise I didn't substitute the creatine for cyanide, but I did squeeze in some chocolate sauce to try and cover the BCAAs because I know those taste god-awful."

That was good enough for him.

As he started chugging the less than appetizing concoction, Dessie wasn't blind to Catherine's eyes scanning up and down his body.

"Like what ya see, O'Toole?"

Catherine's cheeks instantly turned red from having been called out on her unsuccessful attempt to be sly while gawking. With at least five weeks to go until she'd likely be cleared to resume in their active sex life, the view of Dessie half-naked, sweaty, and breathing heavily made Catherine want to rip her hair out in sexual frustration.

"Maybe," she crooned.

With his free hand, Dessie grabbed her hip to pull her closer. He kissed her long and slow, leaving no corner of her mouth unexplored. She savored the bitter chocolatey taste lingering on his tongue, preferring it far more to the flavor of Jimmy.

His voice dripping with burning lust, Dessie asked, "Is it too soon to put another baby in you?"

"Don't tease me," Catherine whined, running her fingers through his damp hair. "If I could have a litter of wee Dessie's, I would."

Dessie cheekily smiled, patting and squeezing her ass. "Come shower with me. I'm sure we can find a way to put that beautiful mouth of yours to good use."


	78. Kiss Me

"This is a bad idea," Catherine mumbled. "Such a stupid fucking idea."

Tightening her grip on the steering wheel, she contemplated getting off at the next exit and turning around. Crippling guilt devoured her soul. It pecked away the last shreds of basic human decency she managed to hold on to.

This was all for what? she wondered.

So she could make Jimmy happy and hope he'd loosen the iron grip he still strangled her life with? So fleeting peace could be kept between the rivaling organizations for a little while longer?

Like everything in life, those came with a price. Already beaten down by a lifetime of armed conflict, gratuitous bloodshed, and more death than most people would ever experience, Catherine didn't think twice about using herself as a pawn. What made her feel like the worst scum of the Earth was her willingness to drag an innocent little boy through the mud with her.

Taking her eyes off the road just long enough to glance into the rearview mirror, Catherine ignored the sting of tears. Seeing Eamonn buckled into his booster seat, his attention focused on the lush green countryside outside the tinted window with a small paper cup in his hands nearly broke her down. He was none the wiser to what Catherine was doing. As the one person in this world who was supposed to protect him, this officially made her the worst mother in existence.

After taking Eamonn with her to visit Danny at Daisy Hill, Catherine bought his silence on where they were going next with a rare strawberry milkshake from McDonald's. She couldn't figure out which was worse – lying to Dessie in the first place about bringing Eamonn to Belfast, or bribing her son so he wouldn't accidentally make a sacrificial lamb out of her later.

Either way, Catherine knew she was screwed. With eyes and ears from Tralee to Belfast, she would be nothing short of a fool if she thought she'd get away with this. Dessie had the upper hand over Jimmy in that Catherine couldn't make a move in thirty-two counties—not a measly six—without her husband becoming privy to it.

It was early afternoon by the time she made it to Belfast. Parking in the carpark of Ormeau Park, Catherine grabbed the Chicago White Sox baseball cap off the passenger seat. She slipped her long ponytail through the hole in the back, and then slid on a pair of black sunglasses. Eamonn was a step ahead of Catherine, already unbuckled leaning over the backseat so he could rummage through the trunk for his tri-color football.

"Need help?" she asked, turning around in her seat, ready to lunge and grab his ankle if he went overbroad.

"Nope! I got it!"

With his football grasped tightly in his hands, Eamonn slid back down victoriously. Catherine got out of the SUV, tucking her keys under her arm before helping Eamonn jump out. Hand-in-hand, they crossed the carpark, walking leisurely along the path until they came across the playground.

It didn't take long for Eamonn to spot a couple of kids who'd been in his class at St. Matthew's. He couldn't shove the football into Catherine's hands fast enough so he could run off and play.

Staking claim on one of the swings, she checked her watch. Being late wasn't like Jimmy, so she made sure she didn't have a last-minute text message from him bailing on their plans.

Jimmy wasn't late, he was just having a hard time spotting Catherine who was trying to look as clandestine as possible. He spotted a woman wearing all black swaying slowly on the swing. The worn-out White Sox baseball cap tipped Jimmy off as it was a gift she specifically asked him to bring back for her on one of his trips to the Second City. He managed to go unnoticed by Eamonn as he was far too busy, but Catherine abandoned the swing when she saw Jimmy crossing through the grass.

"You're late," she lowly scold.

"Yeah, I know," he snapped back. "Any other day of the week Fi doesn't have two fuckin' words to say to me, but she's suddenly got somethin' to say as I'm walkin' out the door. You tell him I was comin'?"

"I didn't. I wanted it to be a surprise."

"Are you gonna stick around, or…? What's the plan?"

"Nah, I figured I'd give youse time alone. Gonna head over to the Falls; Nicola said she can squeeze me for a mani. Figured the three of us would hit up a chippy when I'm finished."

Jimmy didn't say it, though Catherine could tell by the way his body language relaxed he appreciated the gesture. Reaching into the pocket of his navy chinos, he pulled out his wallet. He held out a folded fifty pound banknote between his index and middle fingers.

"On me."

Hesitant at first to let Jimmy pay for her manicure, Catherine wasn't going pass up the chance to pamper on his dime. She snatched the note, slipping into the waistband of her leggings.

"I forgot, I'm gettin' waxed too, _and _stoppin' at Starbucks beforehand."

How could he say no?

He gave her another hundred, and then reached out to rub his knuckle along her upper lip.

"Doesn't feel like you need a wax."

"That's because it's not that kind of waxin', you daft prick." She swatted his hand away. "Think a wee further south."

Jimmy pursed his lips when he realized it was _that _kind of waxing.

"So I'm payin' for another man to enjoy your smooth fanny, huh?"

Catherine spoke before the words had a chance to filter through her brain. "If you play your cards right, maybe I'll let you see what you paid for."

"I'm holdin' you to that."

Catherine wanted to slap herself for saying something so stupid. Whenever she was around Jimmy, she never seemed to be able to think coherently. She needed to get out of there before any more words of wisdom slipped.

"You're gonna keep an eye on him, yeah?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes. "No, I was gonna leave him here to meet the lads for a pint and hope for the best. Seriously, Catherine? Of course I'm gonna keep a bloody eye on him."

"Point taken," she said, putting her hands up in defense. "Well, you have my number if ya need anything. I shouldn't be any longer than two hours. It's been a while, you're sure you'll be okay without me?"

"You don't trust me to take care of our boy for a few hours?"

Catherine could hear the irritation growing in Jimmy's voice, which was her warning to back off. She did trust his parenting abilities. She was just gun-shy after the last time when he dumped Eamonn on Fiona so he could go drink.

"I do trust you." Catherine took both of them by surprise when she went in for a hug goodbye. "Have fun. He's gonna be really excited to see you."

Catching notes of her clean, fruity-floral perfume, Jimmy had a hard time focusing on what she said. He pressed his hand to the small of her back and kissed her cheek before she pulled away.

With only a wave, Catherine took off on her walk back to the car. The playground wasn't quite out of sight yet, so she turned around just in time to watch Jimmy sneak up on Eamonn. She couldn't hear the words exchanged between them, but she felt her throat become painfully tight as Jimmy swopped Eamonn off his feet for a lung-crushing hug.

For Eamonn's sake, Catherine was thankful Jimmy was a halfway decent father. For her own, Catherine wished he wasn't. Because at least then she could justify keeping them apart.

* * *

Feeling fresh and armed with an iced coffee, Catherine made it back to the park to find Jimmy and Eamonn kicking the football around. She winced when she saw how reddened Eamonn's cheeks and arms had become, kicking herself for not remembering to bring sunblock. Tossing the nearly empty cup into the trash can, Catherine snuck up behind Eamonn. She held her index finger to her lips, signaling Jimmy to keep quiet about her presence. He went on as if she wasn't there.

When she got close enough to Eamonn, Catherine slightly crouched down and grabbed him by the sides. His shrill shriek turned into maniacal laughter upon realizing it was his mother lifting him into the air.

Resting his foot on top of the ball, Jimmy couldn't stop his wide, stupid smile. As Catherine moved Eamonn to dangle him upside down over her shoulder, his small hand knocked the baseball cap off Catherine's head. She tossed it to the ground after falling to her knees, gently body-slamming him to the ground. Bouncing to his feet, Eamonn jumped on Catherine.

Watching how the two played together without a care in the world made Jimmy feel like he had been kicked in the chest. Moving the ball to the side, Jimmy joined in on the dog-pile, taking the two of them down with him. This was what he wanted all the time. Catherine and Eamonn in Belfast with him – the three of them together as a family.

* * *

"He's dead to the world," Catherine chuckled.

Walking behind Jimmy, she licked her thumb and tried to wipe the smudge of dried chocolate ice cream off Eamonn's cheek. He was sound asleep, his head resting peacefully on Jimmy's shoulder as Jimmy carried him back to the house.

"Leave him alone," he chides. "All you'll end up doing is wakin' him up, and we both know he's way crabbier than you get if woken up from a nap."

Moving over to Jimmy's side, Catherine glared up at him. "Tough but fair."

At the end of the street, they stopped in front of the gate of Jimmy's house. Not ready to say goodbye just yet, Jimmy danced around asking Catherine to stay for a little longer.

"You gotta head back to Cross just yet?"

Catherine looked at her watch. It was just after five o'clock. She should be heading back south to pick up Sean from Kieran's. Irritated Dessie dumped Sean on Kieran's wife Hannah when he promised he'd be home all day working on Danny's nursery, Catherine decided he could worry about it.

"I can spare a few hours. What are you thinkin' O'Phelan?"

"I've got a bottle of that merlot you like. Figured we could order a pizza or somethin'; hang out and let him sleep."

Sucking her teeth, Catherine looked at Eamonn passed out in Jimmy's arms. If she tried buckling him into his booster seat now, it would surely wake him up. Jimmy was right to say Eamonn's attitude was terrible if his sleep was disturbed, so it was in everyone's best interest to let him snooze. Despite the nag in the pit of her stomach warning her to get back on the road, Catherine gave in.

"Yeah, I'd like that," she said.

Plus, there was something she needed to get off her chest.

* * *

Tucking her legs underneath her on the couch, Catherine tried to find the words she wanted to say.

"I have somethin' I need to ask you, but before I can do that, I need to confess somethin' to you."

Jimmy turned his head, furrowing his brow at Catherine as she took a sip of her wine. "The hell did you do?"

"Please don't be mad," she said while setting down her glass. "I requested a copy of your military records…and I got it."

A million and one questions were on the tip of his tongue.

"How did you manage to get it without me knowin'? I'm not dead yet – you'd need my approval."

"This is where I need you to remember how much you love me." Taking a deep breath, Catherine fully prepared for the fireworks. But to her, they were worth it if it meant getting the pieces of information she needed to put together the puzzle of the past. "I filled the form out as if I were you. When you went to Fermanagh, I snuck into yours and got all the information I needed off your discharge papers, and I made a copy of your passport. They also wanted a utility bill to prove your address so I stole one. And then I paid Kerrianne three-hundred quid to intercept the package before you or Fiona saw it."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Jimmy didn't know where to start. He wanted to scream at her for invading his privacy. She didn't learn from the last time she broke into his safe. Hearing she made a copy of his passport and sent it to the Ministry of Defense when he knew ATF was sniffing into the gun supplier of SAMCRO, almost made him want to lose his mind.

But for him, there was a deeper issue here. Was she that terrified of just coming out and asking him about his time in the army that the risk of going behind his back was the more appealing option?

"You're a smart girl, but sometimes you do the stupidest fuckin' things. I can't even be mad at you for bein' that sneaky…I didn't have the slightest clue. Why didn't you just ask? I would've bloody told you anythin' you wanted to know, Catherine."

"I didn't have any questions about _your_ service, per se. I guess you could say getting your records first was more of a test run for what I actually wanted."

"You better start explaining yourself." He picked up his glass of scotch, drowning nearly half of it in one go.

Catherine now regretted bringing it up, but there was no one else she could talk to about it. He was the only one who even acknowledged it in the first place.

"Like six years ago, you mentioned Filip joined, too."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he groaned, knowing where this was going. "Don't start with that shite, Catherine. You're puttin' your nose in places where it doesn't belong."

"And I fully understand that. But knowin' my Ma, who has never stopped talkin' about her wee brother since he left, I couldn't figure out why for all these years she's never mentioned anythin' about him being in the army. It can't be because she's ashamed of him servin' Her Majesty. She was proud of Lorcan when he enlisted. If I asked her or Fiona, I knew they'd never even acknowledge it. If I asked you, you'd just brush it off. I jumped through bloody hoops to get Filip's records because I have none of his information, and there's no death certificate on account of the fact he isn't dead."

Jimmy rolled the glass between his hands. He did feel a bit sorry for Catherine. There were so many secrets no one was willing to talk about when all she wanted was the truth so she could try to make sense of events that impacted her life.

Shifting his weight, he cleared his throat. "Were you able to get it?"

"I did, only because I pretended to be Kerrianne. MOD didn't send me nearly the amount of information as they did when they thought I was you."

He chuckled at her attempted joke but then turned serious again. "Did you find somethin' you weren't expecting?"

"Aye."

"What did you find?"

While he already knew what she found, Jimmy wanted to hear Catherine say it.

"I found out why no one talks about it. He was court-martialed and dishonorably discharged. So," she took a breath, "the question I need to ask you is, why was he? What happened?"

Jimmy felt like he could breathe a little easier. Her knowing the least amount possible was the best outcome. At least this way no one had to explain anything.

"As much I want to tell you what happened, I can't, a chuisle."

"Why can't you? If you know what happened, you should!"

"No," he affirmed. "It's not my place to say anything. If Filip wants you to know what happened, he'll tell ya."

Catherine snorted. "And what do you suggest I do? Write him a wee letter? Give him a bell after nearly a year of no communication and casually ask why he was dishonorably discharged from the army?"

"My suggestion is that you fuckin' drop it and let it die. As I said, you're puttin' you nose somewhere it doesn't belong."

Frustrated, Catherine huffed. She snatched the scotch from Jimmy's hand and polished it off, needing something far stronger than wine.

Getting up off the couch, Jimmy disappeared into the kitchen and came back with another glass and a bottle of scotch. Tossing the cap on the coffee table, he poured two fingers into the glass she was holding and then three fingers for himself.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you," he said into the glass. "What happened…it was bad. You know how it works here – there are just some things that aren't spoken about and this is one 'em."

Catherine softly set the glass on the table beside the bottle. Jimmy's sudden rigid posture and how he poured himself more scotch after knocking back the previous shot rose Catherine's suspicion.

"You got dragged into it, didn't you?"

"Aye. Filip was my best mate. I did what I had to."

Catherine fell silent and Jimmy leaned back into the couch as he squeezed her thigh.

Frustrated, she had more questions than ever, though for now, she decided to heed his warning and let it go.

"I think it's safe to say Eamonn had fun today." She changed the subject.

"Yeah, I think so, too. What about you, did you have fun?"

Catherine coyly bit her lip, nodding.

That was good enough for him.

Setting his glass on the table, Jimmy reached out and cupped Catherine's cheek in his meaty hand. She softly nuzzled it, relaxing under the comfort of his thumb caressing her flesh.

"I swear, you look more and more beautiful every time I see you, a chuisle."

Catherine was at a loss for words, unsure if responding to his advance would be a good idea. This wasn't the playful flirtation they'd had earlier; she knew this was Jimmy trying to break her down. She wanted to move back out of his reach, yet her brain stalled her ability to physically go anywhere. Instead, Jimmy moved closer.

They locked eyes for a split second before Catherine broke her gaze to glance at his lips. Her heart pounded against her ribs, feeling the warmth radiating from Jimmy.

"Kiss me," she whispered hoarsely. "Please."

Not having to be told twice, Jimmy dipped his head. His lips brushed hers. Catherine placed her hand on the side of his neck, intoxicated not by the strong scotch, but by the wonderful, conflict-free day they shared.

Just before getting the chance to capture her mouth, Catherine's cellphone sprang to life on the table.

Instinctually, she looked over to the buzzing iPhone. _Dessie _read across the screen in white letters.

"Let it go to voicemail," Jimmy urged. He rested his forehead against her temple.

And she did.

Turning back towards him, Catherine took a breath and closed her eyes, feeling his hot breath against her flesh. He closed the gap between their lips, stopping when he was just a hair's breadth away.

Her phone rang again.

Catherine pulled fully away from the kiss, grabbing her phone. She swiped the screen to answer the call as Jimmy pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. He nearly gagged when she said,

"Hey, baby, what's up?"

Except it wasn't Dessie. It was Mickey Ryan.

He was out of breath and stammering, "There…there…it was an accident! We fucked up and it just went off! Dessie…he's hurt, Catherine, you've gotta get to Dundalk."


	79. Chaos

Three men sat on the porch of the safe house. Cigarettes were lazily clenched between their cut, sanguine, burned, blackened fingers. None of their faces showed an ounce of emotion.

Unscathed, Patrick plopped down with them to wait for Catherine. When her SUV came up the gravel drive, she jumped out before it even came to a halt. He stood up to run interference. The last thing he wanted was her walking into the bloody and helter-skelter situation unfolding in the kitchen unprepared.

As if it were possible to prepare Catherine for what she was about to see.

"What happened?!" she demanded. "Is he okay? Where is he?"

Hopping off the second to last step on the porch, Patrick quickly grabbed her shoulders to keep Catherine from moving forward. He could feel her trembling. Her eyes filled with a fear he never saw from her before. While she may have appeared calm on the outside, Patrick safely assumed she was unraveling within.

"It was a pipe bomb," he said bluntly.

Fat, searing tears bubbled in Catherine's eyes. She sank her nails into Patrick's chest, swaying unsteadily. "I can't do this again, Da!"

Catherine collapsing against him, Patrick realized in retrospect, he should have led off with the good news.

"He's alive - don't be gettin' too far ahead of yourself."

Lifting her head off his chest, she wiped the tears from her cheeks. "He is?"

"Aye. He's in pretty bad shape, Catherine. In a lot of pain and he's havin' a hard time breathing."

Hearing the door of Catherine's SUV close, Patrick looked over her head apathetically to see Jimmy lighting a cigarette. All he could do was stay calm, wondering how in the hell to process his relief to see the bastard standing there.

"Tommy over there better remember his SAS training." Patrick pointed to Jimmy. "We think Dessie may have a collapsed lung, and with McVeigh workin' tonight none of us have the slightest clue on how to help him."

Without another word, Catherine turned around. She made a mad dash towards Jimmy. Patrick could see her mouth moving but he couldn't make out a word she said. He watched as Jimmy took the cigarette from his mouth and flicked it to the ground.

Running ahead of Catherine, Jimmy passed by Patrick and the other men, taking the steps two at a time.

As soon as he entered the safe house, Jimmy shuttered. The air was heavy, smelling sickly metallic. Dessie's agonizing cries reverberated off the walls.

It was utter chaos. That was the only way he could sum the kitchen when he finally made it in there. It reminded him of the complete disarray the barracks would be in when the Provisionals ambushed units while they patrolled in south Armagh.

His vision fish-bowled. The yelling voices around him muffled; their words becoming incomprehensible.

Those who hadn't been at ground zero were stained with the blood of their comrades as they kept the pressure on oozing wounds. They pulled shards of metal and rusty nails out of limbs. The nauseating stench of scorched flesh assaulted Jimmy's nose as the men were quick to cauterize with a clothes iron they heated over the open flame on the stove.

Kieran caught Jimmy's attention first. Blood ran down his arm from the gaping hole where his pinky finger used to be. Then he saw the charred, blistering burn on the side of Mickey Ryan's neck. Tiny glittering pieces of metal were embedded in the raw wound.

Sprawled out helplessly on the table was Dessie. Withering in torturous pain, his t-shirt and jeans had been cut off of him, the garments lying on the floor in a forgotten heap. Jack, Aidan, and Connor shouted over one another holding blood-soaked rags to the lesions scattered across his body.

Jimmy winced when he noticed the small pile of nails which had been plucked from Dessie's chest, arms, and legs.

Time almost ceased to exist as Dessie turned his head towards Jimmy, though his attention fell upon something other than him. Dessie's bloated eyes were bright red, tears streaming and mixing with the smeared blood on his cheeks.

"Catherine," he cried, holding out his shaking, burned hand. "Oh, God, Catherine!"

Jimmy stumbled as Catherine pushed passed him. She didn't waste another second, rushing to Dessie's side and tightly grabbing hold of his hand. Over and over she kissed his knuckles, not caring her mouth was now stained with his blood.

"I'm right here," she crooned, sitting on the edge of the table. She ran her fingers through his hair in an attempt to help calm him down. "I'm here, Dessie, just focus on me."

Jimmy noticed how only one side of Dessie's chest rose and fell with every shallow breath he took. He'd seen it too many times in combat to not know what it meant.

He shoved his personal feelings aside. Hearing the beastly howls, suddenly it wasn't Dessie - Catherine's husband, the father of her youngest son - lying there dying. It was wee Dessie, the seventeen-year-old boy he so long ago took under his wing.

"Broderick!" yelled Jimmy. "Don't fuckin' touch that!"

Shell shocked to see Jimmy, Connor uncurled his fingers from the large scrap of metal piping which was lodged under Dessie's ribcage.

The room fell silent as Jimmy approached the table. He rolled up the sleeves of his cashmere sweater, placing two warm fingers to the artery in Dessie's neck.

"Please tell me youse at least have a basic jump bag."

"Aye," Jack replied, grabbing it off the counter and tossing it to Jimmy. "Of course we do."

Rummaging through the bright orange bag to take a quick inventory of the equipment they had, he was shocked. They had Morphine auto-injectors; catheters, tubing, and saline solution bags for IVs. Forceps, suture, and chest decompression kits, bags full of sterile gauze and trauma dressings.

All he could do was shake his head. They had top of the line equipment, yet here they were controlling bleeding with dirty rags and closing wounds with a hot iron.

Old habits die hard, he supposed.

Tearing into the packages of combat gauze with his teeth, Jimmy handed it over to Jack and Aidan with instructions on how to stop the bleeding of Dessie's open shrapnel wounds, along with Kieran's hand.

"An accidental detonation. Really? I thought I taught ya better than that," Jimmy taunted.

"Fuck you," Dessie groaned, stopping to cough, "it wasn't my goddamn fault. You gotta get this fuckin' thing outta me! Holy fuck does it hurt!"

To confirm his suspicions, Jimmy placed his hands on Dessie's chest. "Take a deep breath."

Dessie tried to take a full breath, but the pain in his chest stopped him short. Not wanting to scare Catherine, Jimmy kept his reservations under lock and key. Only his right hand rose and fell.

"Before I can even think about takin' out this piece of metal, I have to get the air outta your chest. Your lung is collapsed; that's why it hurts and why you can't take a full breath."

Dessie began to squirm, growing more agitated. The last time he saw one of the lads have a collapsed lung, it was fixed with a boning knife and cocktail straw.

"Nuh-uh," Dessie bellowed. "No fuckin' way are _you_ cuttin' into me."

Jimmy held up the decompression needle. "I don't have to cut you. Just pop the needle in; I'll be done in two minutes."

Dessie vigorously shook his head. "I don't give a shite how simple it is, you're not doin' it! Have Catherine do it."

Jimmy held out the needle to her.

"I'm not doin' it," she said. "I've never done this in my life. If I push too deep, I'll end up killin' ya!"

"Then take me to hospital, they'll do it there."

Propping up onto his elbows, Dessie tried to get up. Everyone jumped to keep him still, afraid the slightest movement of the shard in his abdomen would have catastrophic consequences. With Dessie unwilling to break on his decision not to allow Jimmy to decompress his chest, they all started yelling over each other on what they should do.

The hospital was out of the equation for Catherine, Connor, and Kieran. If they checked Dessie in, it wouldn't take long for hospital staff, the PSNI and Gardai to connect his injuries to the blast site.

"Quit bein' an eejit," Connor scolded. "Jimmy doin' it is a far better choice than you wakin' up, cuffed, in some hospital bed."

"I don't care! I don't want this piece of shite to even be here!"

Connor couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was ready to slap sense into Dessie.

"Are you even listenin' to yourself right now? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph-"

"Leave him the fuck alone, Broderick!" yelled Jack. "He's really hurt; we'd be stupid not to take him in."

Patrick stood in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest as he observed the chaos. On the one hand, he completely sympathized with Dessie's plight. If he were the one lying on the table, Patrick wouldn't let Jimmy within a ten-foot range either. Then, on the other hand, he couldn't disagree with Connor that Dessie was acting like an idiot.

The reality of the situation was that there was only one person in that room who had Patrick's best interest. He'd be damned if he watched Catherine go through the emotional trauma of burying another love. Nor did he want to see her fall into the footsteps of Olivia - schlepping three kids to Maghaberry to see their father for an hour, twice a month.

Watching them fight like children and getting nowhere near a solution, Patrick realized it was his turn to step in.

"Would you lot shut your fuckin' gobs for two seconds?" he roared.

Hearing her father raise his voice, Catherine instantly stopped talking, as did the rest of the guys. Patrick scanned the room with sheer disappointment gleaming in his eyes. They all felt this odd sense of shame.

Catherine let go of Dessie's hand and slunk back from the table when Patrick approached.

"Desmond, listen here, lad," Patrick lightly slapped Dessie's cheek to garner his attention. "I get it, you don't want Jimmy here. After what he did to you, no one blames ya for feelin' that way. But you've three options, mate. You can let Jimmy do his thing and have this be over and done with. Or we can take you to hospital where you can guarantee you'll be arrested, and spend the next thirty-some-odd-years seein' Catherine and Danny when they come visit you in prison. Or you can just say goodbye to Catherine now because the longer you drag this out, it will kill ya. You gotta man up and figure out what kinda life you want for your wife and son."

He didn't like any of the choices his father-in-law laid out for him.

Looking passed Patrick to Catherine, Dessie pursed his chapped, bluish lips. A shiver ran down her spine, not taking kindly to the amount of animosity in his eyes.

For the first time in the decade they've known each other, Dessie never loathed Catherine as much as he did right now. Who the fuck did she think she is? Bringing Jimmy here when she knew damn well he wasn't welcome in their lives. She made Dessie feel cornered with Jimmy for the second time. Like he had no other option but to work with the one man he never wanted to see for the rest of his life.

None of it made any sense to him. Why all of a sudden she was so willing to make business deals with Jimmy, and her turning to him in times of crisis. Her brother's a Son, Dessie reminded himself. SAMBEL's vice president had more medical training than Jimmy. They'd jump on the chance to be owed a favor by the IRA.

As much as he currently hated his wife, Dessie hated the prospect of prison or death even more. Patrick was right; he did need to man up. Though this would be the absolute final time he swallowed his pride for Jimmy O'Phelan.

"Fine. Let's get this fuckin' over with," Dessie said, easing back down. He threw a hostile glance in Catherine's direction, his order directed to Mickey. "Get her outta here."

When Mickey grabbed her upper arm to force her out of the kitchen, Catherine jerked from his weak grasp. "I'm not leavin'! I'm stayin' here with you!"

"Catherine, get out of here, now," Jimmy roughly chide. The last thing he needed was her presence making Dessie more agitated than he already was.

"Hey!" Dessie barked, grabbing the collar of Jimmy's sweater. "Don't you fuckin' talk to her like that!"

Jimmy buried his boiling irritation. Can't win them all, he supposed.

Catherine tried reaching for Dessie's hand, but Patrick stepped in and blocked her. He put one hand on her chest, pushing her back.

"Ya do as you're bloody told," Patrick cruelly reminded her. "You've done enough; get lost."

Peeking around her father, Catherine gazed at Dessie. It was a dagger to the heart when he wouldn't even look at her. Tucking her hands into the pockets of her zip-up sweatshirt, Catherine gave Patrick a single nod. She meekly stepped back and to the front door so she could get some fresh air.

At least she'd have time to think about how she'd make things right between her and Dessie.

* * *

Sitting outside gazing at the stars, Catherine lost track of time. Pulling her knees into her chest, she lit a cigarette. Several times she thought about marching inside and telling Dessie to suck it up and deal with her being in the kitchen with him. She was going crazy with every scenario running through her increasingly wild imagination. The only thing keeping her somewhat sane at this point was the hope the lads would at least come to fetch her if anything god-forbid went wrong.

Deep in her belly, the fluttering butterflies went into overdrive when she heard the front door open and close behind her. She didn't look back - having a feeling it was Patrick - though Catherine was taken by surprise when Jimmy took a seat on the steps beside her. Saying not a single word, Jimmy reached over and plucked the burning Marlboro from her fingers. He took a long drag, the nicotine buzz well welcomed after the stressful night he had.

Catherine was crawling out of her skin. She couldn't take the melancholy quiet.

"How is he?"

"Alive," he said, passing the cigarette back to her. "Managed to decompress his chest with no problems, but I had a hard time stoppin' all the bleeding since he's such a heavy smoker. The nasty wound on his abdomen…you're gonna wanna keep an eye on it. I had no choice but to cauterize it. He's sleepin' because of all the pain killers and antibiotics I pumped him full of."

Flicking the cigarette into the grass, Catherine ran her fingers through her hair. She rested her forehead in her hands, trying to digest everything that happened in the last handful of hours. As badly as she wanted to shake Dessie awake to say "I told you so," now wasn't the time. She'd have her chance in the future to remind him of how he should have listened to her when she said returning to the days of unsteady homemade pipe bombs wasn't his brightest idea.

"And Kieran? The poor lad."

"He's fine, just minus a wee finger. I'll probably stick around for the night just in case things go south."

Catherine smirked at him, unsure if she believed that was the reason Jimmy wanted to stay the night in Dundalk.

"And your decision had nothin' to do with wanting to spend more time with me?"

"Wow," Jimmy exclaimed. "Aren't you full of yourself? Not that I owe you a goddamn explanation, but me wanting to stay has absolutely nothing to do with you, and everything to do with Dessie. Youse are useless without a medic; I need him to stay alive. If he dies…I lose the AKs. No way Kieran would ever let me have 'em."

Reaching into the pocket of her sweatshirt for the pack of cigarettes, she lit another.

"And here I thought it was because you had a wee heart underneath your tough exterior," she teased.

"Yeah, well…" he trailed off. Jimmy took the cigarette from her again. "You better quit. This shite'll kill ya."

"Bold of you to assume the Kings, peelers, or my own goddamn explosives won't kill me first."

"I'd never let the Kings touch you, a chuisle. You can count on that."

For some reason, hearing Jimmy say that brought calm to the anxious storm which has been ravaging her brain ever since they made the nasty split from the True army. It was comforting to know she still had him in her corner even after the hell they've put each other through.

She patted his knee. "I appreciate that. I really do. And thanks for helpin' Dessie. I know youse despise each other and you easily could've just let him die. It means a lot."

"I did it for you," he said, then blew smoke rings into the air. "He makes you happy and all I want is for you to be happy."

It wasn't seeing Dessie lying on the table battered and burned that brought Catherine to tears, it was realizing for the first time perhaps Jimmy really did genuinely care about her. She quickly wiped them from her cheeks, knowing he'd make some sort of jab about her being weak for crying if he saw them. She rested her head on his arm.

Jimmy offered the cigarette back to her and she waved it off, standing up.

"I should go check on him and then head back to Cross and pack some of his clothes. I have a wee feelin' it'll be a minute before he can show his face across the border," she wryly joked. Opening the front door, Catherine glanced over her shoulder to see Jimmy take a drag from the cigarette. "You should quit that nasty habit; that shite'll kill ya."

* * *

Jimmy felt slightly uneasy as Catherine juggled her keys to unlock the front door of the home she shared with Dessie. He followed her inside, curiously looking around after she flipped on the lights. By all the new furniture and electronics in the family room, upgraded appliances in the kitchen, he had a feeling ONH was far more profitable than Catherine led him to believe.

"If you wanna hang out down here, I'm gonna head up and pack for Dess," she said.

Jimmy could hear the thick exhaustion in her voice, which was to be expected considering it was well past four in the morning. She didn't say anything else, she just trekked up the stairs to their bedroom. Walking further into the family room, Jimmy heard the plush comfy couch calling his name, but he decided against sitting down out of fear that if he did, he'd fall asleep for the next day and a half.

Instead, a collection of photos on the mantelpiece above the fireplace caught his attention.

He picked up a picture of Eamonn as an infant he'd never seen before. It broke his heart to realize it had been taken on Eamonn's first birthday. The cake and frosting covered boy should have been in his arms, not Darragh's. Jimmy wished he could say that was the only birthday he missed, but the sad fact was he'd been either fighting with Catherine or gone on business for the first four. He was shit at penciling in time for his son, though he tried to make up for the regular absenteeism when they did have the chance to see one another. In the long-run, Jimmy knew those few-and-far-between moments would mean fuck all to Eamonn now that Dessie filled the role of full-time father.

Setting it back down, Jimmy picked up another one of Dessie, Eamonn, and Sean at Slieve Gullion. He desperately wanted to be angry at how happy Eamonn seemed with Dessie. It didn't seem fair to watch _his _son become so attached to another man. But what else was he supposed to expect when he hadn't bothered to even find out when Eamonn was born? Fiona had been the one to tell him nearly three weeks after.

"He loves you more than you deserve."

Startled, Jimmy nearly dropped the picture frame. Still holding it, he turned around to find Catherine tossing a black duffel bag onto the couch. She closed the space between them, then took the frame from his hands and set it back on the mantel.

"Aye," he breathed, unable to take his eyes off Eamonn's smiling face. "You've done a hell of a good job with him all on your own."

"I would respectfully disagree. How can I be a good mother when I'm…the way I am?"

"Now I know you're exhausted outta your mind because you're talkin' nonsense. You're a brilliant mother, so you are. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Catherine sat down on the coffee table. "Brilliant mothers don't run criminal organizations nor are they constantly arrested."

"Have ya been charged or convicted of anything?"

She shook her head.

"Then it doesn't matter. And even if ya were, it wouldn't matter to those boys because they love you unconditionally."

"Thanks for the pep talk," she chuckled.

Looking at his watch, Jimmy realized they've already spent too much time there. They had to get over the border before the sun broke the horizon. He picked the bag up off the couch, slung the strap over his shoulder, and held out his hand to Catherine.

"We've better get back before they start to think we've run off together."

Slipping her hand into his, she smiled. "I suppose we should."

Taking the keys from her, Jimmy led them outside and locked the door. His back was still turned as she started her descent back to the car.

And that's when hell broke loose.

"Jimmy!"

Her scream pierced the quiet predawn air.

Spinning around so fast, Jimmy nearly tripped over himself. The keys fell from his hand at the same time the bag slipped off his shoulder.

Once reality slapped him in the face, he ran towards the convoy of armored Land Rovers and flashing blue lights.


	80. Plain Fuckin' Stupid

"Jesus Christ. What the hell happened to your face?"

Shaken, Catherine graciously took the glass of whiskey offered to her by Connor. Jimmy poured a shot of the liquor into his coffee, while Dessie glared at the two from the couch.

He couldn't even have twelve hours to sleep off his painkiller induced high without them stirring up trouble.

The whiskey burned the back of her raw throat as she took a sip, touching the tender bruise forming around her right eye. It was stupid what she did, which was the reason why she didn't want to divulge the truth.

"Genius over here tried to make a run for the border," Jimmy answered Connor's question. "Peelers tackled her and she caught an elbow during the scrum."

Patrick and Dessie almost lunged over the coffee table to get to Catherine, who sat on the love-seat with Jimmy. Both men were ready to wring her neck.

"Are you really that foolish? Or are you just plain fuckin' stupid?" spat Patrick.

"I panicked, okay? If I'd of known off the bat they only had a search warrant, I wouldn't have run!"

"That's beside the goddamn point, Catherine!" Dessie yelled, startling everyone. "Do you have any idea how fuckin' idiotic it was to do that? You're lucky they bothered runnin' after you instead of shootin' you in the back of the head!"

Grabbing her whiskey, Patrick polished it off. "I'm amazed you even managed to get out of there without being arrested. Mother'a Christ. I raised ya better than this, so I did!"

With six pairs of eyes on her, Catherine felt the humiliation of being chastised by her husband and father hit like a ton of bricks. She thought the entire population of Belfast finding out about her pregnancy with Eamonn was the most degrading experience of her life, but as it turned out this was far worse by ten-fold. Burying her face in her hands, she would rather die than have likes of these men see her cry over being called out for her careless actions.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Kieran butted in, making her feel worse.

"Don't you fuckin' start in on this!" Dessie roared.

Even though Dessie was instructing him to stay out of what happened, Catherine couldn't help exploding on Kieran. She jumped up, no longer caring about the tears skating down her cheeks.

"I was thinkin' about protecting my boys by not ending up in a pair of handcuffs-"

"Goddamn," Kieran interrupted. "You are just plain fuckin' stupid, aren't you? For real, you thought tryin' to make a run for the border – which is a mile from your house, might I add – would be the best way for you to protect your boys?"

"I don't have to fuckin' take this from you." Catherine swiped the bottle off the table and tried to leave the family room, but Patrick stopped her before she could take another step.

"You sit your arse right here," Patrick said, forcing Catherine back down on the love-seat. "The rest of youse, go keep busy. Before I forget, one of you shites needs to call Ahern's bird so she doesn't find out from the telly that her eejit old man blew himself up last night."

Connor, Jack, Mickey, and Aidan filed out of the room. Kieran stayed behind for a second, leaving begrudgingly only when Dessie nudged his chin in the direction of the doorway. He also looked to Patrick.

"You mind, Paddy?"

Reluctantly, Patrick left too.

Jimmy grabbed the bottle of whiskey from Catherine, tucking a cigarette behind his ear. "I guess I'll leave youse to figure this out. If you need me, I'll be-"

"Sit your sorry arse back down, O'Phelan." Dessie pushed through the aches and throbbing pains, standing up to put on the pair of jeans she brought him from home. He left them unbuttoned and forwent a shirt as he couldn't lift his arms over his head just yet. "Catherine, why don't you make breakfast for the lads?"

Glancing up at him, she noticed his attention wasn't on her. It was on Jimmy. Dessie wasn't asking – this was his way of telling her to get lost so he could talk with Jimmy alone. She didn't have to be told twice. Hoisting up, she collected the mugs and glasses off the table before heading into the kitchen.

Dessie grabbed a cigarette from the pack on the side table, lighting up even though he knew he probably shouldn't. If an accidental detonation of a nail bomb didn't kill him, he figured a cigarette wouldn't either.

Exhaling smoke through his nostrils, Dessie pressed his hand against the bandaged wound on his belly, sitting back down.

"You fuckin' my wife?"

Jimmy was so taken back by the bluntness, he stumbled on his answer, "What? No. No, I'm not shaggin' her."

"You want to though, don't you?"

"Not gonna lie, Dess. I do. And I will until the day I'm six feet in the ground."

Dessie snorted, raising his eyebrows. "At least you're being honest for once. Then why did youse show up here together if you're not shaggin'?"

"Eamonn," he breathed. "I wanted to see Eamonn so she brought him up to Belfast. The three of us were together when she got the call from Mickey."

Inclined to believe him, Dessie wasn't sure if he could. How could he trust the word of a man who was a pathological liar? At this point, if he asked Catherine and got the same answer, it wasn't like her explanation would hold much weight either.

Through tired, sore eyes, Jimmy focused on a peculiar tattoo Dessie bore on his left pectoral. The neat cursive ink taunted him.

_Catherine_

The next words Dessie wanted to say got caught in his throat. He choked on them for a moment, not wanting to tell Jimmy what was really on his mind. Albeit, he was tired of all the hate and animosity; wanting nothing more than for life to go back to normal. Back to how it was before Jimmy left his face mutilated with an ugly scar. He wanted the blithe relationship he and Catherine had before they got married- before she got pregnant.

For that to happen, he had to be the bigger man. Where he grew up, bitterness wore down too many good men. Dessie refused to be one of them.

"Regardless, I do wanna thank you for what you did for me. I'm surprised you didn't just let me die on the table."

"I thought about it. But if anything happened to your pathetic arse, Catherine would string me up by the bollocks," Jimmy chuckled. "And I need the guns from you."

Dessie smiled boastfully. "Never thought I'd see the day where Jimmy O is crawlin' to me for a favor."

Jimmy never thought he'd see the day either. His pride was bruised worse than Catherine's eye, as was his reputation. He wondered how in the hell he would come back from this.

"You better savor how it tastes because it won't happen again."

"Oh, don't worry. I'm never gonna let you live it down that I saved your arse from the ol' Irish Kings."

If looks could kill, Dessie would have dropped dead right there from the daggers Jimmy threw in his direction. Lighting a cigarette, Jimmy mumbled,

"…fuckin' prick."

"And you're a cunt."

The men fell silent for their own good, attempting to cool off before any more insults were hurled and it turned into a brawl.

Neither was looking to throw physical jabs as Dessie was in no position for a fight, and Jimmy knew not to start trouble when he was outnumbered.

"You're tellin' me the truth," Dessie said, crushing out his cigarette, "you and Catherine aren't shaggin'?"

"It's the truth, so it is. We haven't been together since before youse started dating."

Dessie leaned back into the couch, running a hand through his dirty hair. He forced himself to believe what Jimmy said was the truth and this wasn't karma coming back to bite him for the sins he committed in his first marriage.

"The Russian stock – how much hardware do you need?"

Jimmy was surprised by Dessie's willingness to be so forthright in talking business weeks before they agreed to meet in Limerick. He fully expected to be put through the wringer before Dessie even asked how many guns he would need to keep SAMCRO flush. When the eager spark of hope kindled in his gut, Jimmy quickly extinguished it not wanting to get too far ahead of himself.

"Four dozen bi-monthly. I'm hoping to have a new distributor by the end of the year."

Dessie kept stoic, unwilling to show Jimmy he was asking for more than what ONH could provide. Wanting to keep their hands relatively clean of the illicit gun trade, they kept their supply reasonably limited. The small surplus they buried in County Monaghan with the stolen money from the bank heist was procured only when Misha hadn't secured a second buyer.

He couldn't agree to anything yet. Fulfilling Jimmy's order would require them to purchase more hardware from Russia. He'd have no choice but to bring it to the table for a collective vote before shaking on it.

"I'll see what I can do," Dessie said.

That was all Jimmy needed to hear. "I appreciate it, mate. I do."

Dessie snorted, "I'm not your fuckin' mate."

Realizing this conversation wouldn't be going anywhere productive, Jimmy left his cigarette burning in the ashtray and picked up his coffee mug.

"The hell are you goin'?"

"To get more coffee. Is that alright with you, mother?"

Dessie warned, "Keep your fuckin' hands off her."

"Fat fuckin' chance," Jimmy mumbled under his breath, pleased to see the guys congregated outside for a smoke and not in the kitchen with Catherine.

* * *

"Are you outta your goddamn mind?"

Swatting his hand away, Catherine grew flustered over the brazen smack to the ass Jimmy gave her.

Smirking, Jimmy grabbed the coffee pot and poured himself more. "When you're around, a chuisle, you can guarantee that I am."

Setting down the fork she used to flip the rashers frying in a pan, Catherine glared at him in a way he found to be unnecessarily sexy. Jimmy gestured for her to pass him the sugar, and as he stirred in a couple of spoonfuls she tried to figure out what in the hell has gotten into him.

"You've better watch yourself around here," she cautioned. "These fellas are more loyal to Dessie than your blokes are to you. You cross him, they won't think twice about tearin' your head off."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Jimmy said wryly, taking a sip of the sweetened stale coffee. "Your husband seems to think we're screwin' around again."

"So that's what youse were talkin' about. What did you tell him? The truth, I'm hoping. But seeing as to how you're so hellbent to ruin my marriage, I have no idea what to expect from you anymore."

Rolling her eyes, Catherine went back to tending the frying meats and soda bread. Jimmy set his mug down, coming up behind her. He placed his hands on the counters so she was caged in.

"The truth?" he teased. His voice was low, soaked with lasciviousness. "So I should have told him about the wonderful kiss we shared and the romantic evening not even a week ago?"

She was quick to defend, "That was not a _romantic_ evening. We met for a business dinner, nothin' more."

"Bottle and bottle of wine, the candlelit dinner…sure, maybe that could be a business dinner. If you consider the hand-holding, shameless flirting, and the way you were runnin' your foot up and down my leg the entire time to be professional behavior, I'd think about recalibrating the moral compass if I were you."

Feeling the warmth of his lips press against an exposed patch of skin on her neck, Catherine shoved Jimmy off of her. He stepped back without putting up much of a fight, though she wanted to punch the arrogant smile right off his face.

"You're the one who gave me my moral compass, asshole. So, who's really the one who should be reevaluating their behavior? And for the record, I didn't initiate a goddamn thing. It was all you," she tried to justify. "This - this is why I can't see or be around you anymore, Jimmy. Every time something starts going well in my life, you barge in and find a way to fuck it all up! My husband nearly died last night and it happened because I was in Belfast with you."

"What happened wasn't your fault. It was no one else's but Ahern's, you know tha-"

"No," she stopped him, sniffling back tears of guilt. "Dessie gettin' hurt falls on me. If I'd have been home being a wife and mother, he never would've gone with Kieran to check on the lads in Cullyhanna."

"You don't know that, Catherine."

Licking the tears off her lips, Catherine shut off the burners on the stove before taking a seat at the kitchen table. She lit a cigarette despite feeling sick to her stomach.

"I do know, because like every Saturday night, he would've come straight home from the pub to help me get the boys to bed."

Jimmy fell silent. He didn't know what made him more uncomfortable: watching Catherine cry over another man, or hearing she and Dessie had fallen into a mundane routine. He missed the carefree girl she used to be. The girl whose world revolved around him and nothing else.

It was safe for Jimmy to say those days were long gone.

"I'm not hellbent on ruining your marriage," he lied. "Nor has it ever been my intention to fuck your life up when things start going well. Since I got out of the military and when my wee brother died, I feel like I have to control what's going on around me or else it seems like my world is in shambles. You've been the center of my life for nearly thirty years, a chuisle. If you're no longer a part of it…I don't know what I'd do. When you started dating Dessie and I saw how happy and in love with him you are…I fuckin' hate it. You're not supposed to be happy with him or love him - you're supposed to be happy and in love with me. We were supposed to spend the rest of our lives together."

Dropping her cigarette into a Coke can, Catherine buried her face in her hands. This was the very thing she needed to hear right now. It was everything she wanted to hear him say, but it all came far too late to salvage any broken pieces of their battered relationship.

"I love you, Jimmy, I do. I'm just not in love with you anymore like I was when I was seventeen. Dessie, Danny, Sean, and Eamonn are my life now. I will never diminish what we had because it was so raw and passionate. Unfortunately, it was also bloody toxic. It was destroyin' who we are as individuals. We're better friends and business partners than we are as lovers, and not being in a romantic relationship allows us to be better parents to Eamonn."

"I don't wanna be just your friend or business partner. I want you by my side, not Fiona."

"If that's what you wanted, you would have made it happen a long time ago. I never nagged you to leave Fiona because I wanted you to make that decision on your own. You're too late. I'm with Dessie and by god, I will be until one of us dies."

She's upset, Jimmy told himself. That's the only reason she was talking such nonsense. If Dessie hadn't been hurt, she wouldn't feel the need to rub it in his face about how much she loves Dessie. The guilt of not having been home was eating her alive and the only way she thought to make it go away was removing the reason why she hadn't been in Crossmaglen, to begin with.

Jimmy knew he wasn't crazy. The more time he and Catherine spent together in Belfast made him realize decades of deep-seated love and affection don't disappear overnight.

And if there's anything Jimmy learned in those decades, it was that pushing Catherine too hard in the direction he wanted her would only end up backfiring. Eventually, she'd come around. Just like how he got her sworn into the IRA, and how he got her to show up at his house the night she was released from the hospital.

All Jimmy needed to do was twist certain aspects of her life - upset the established order - and she'd be none the wiser as he got exactly what he wanted.

He got rid of Filip. He got rid of Lorcan, Darragh, and Ian. He'd get rid of Dessie, too.


	81. Brennan O'Farrell

Catherine wasn't sure how she got suckered into this. Nevertheless here she was, driving herself and Kerrianne to the teenager's appointment at a family planning clinic in Dundalk. She wholly understood Kerrianne's reservations about not wanting Fiona to be in the know and being the youngest in a family dominated by males, there weren't too many trustworthy women Kerrianne could count on.

She told Catherine she would have gone to Trinity, but Maureen Ashby had better investigative skills than MI-5 and MI-6 combined. There was no way in hell Maureen wouldn't discover what the seemingly impromptu trip to the Republic was for, and wouldn't think twice about telling Fiona about her daughter dabbling in contraception.

Though, Catherine had qualms of her own. If word got out she was the one who offered to play the role of chauffeur, Fiona and Jimmy wouldn't be the only ones chasing her with pitchforks. Olivia, Patrick, Brien, and Padraic surely would too. At first, Catherine considered turning down the request, not wanting to get spun up in the drama. The more she thought about it, she realized if Filip were still been in Belfast, Kerrianne never would've been put into the position of sneaking around.

Without her level-headed father to rely upon, this was the least Catherine could do.

Briefly glancing at Kerrianne in the passenger seat, Catherine noticed how jittery she seemed while fiddling with the radio.

"If you're not ready, that's okay. We can head back to Cross and just have a girl's day. Dessie's in Forkhill with the boys so-"

"I'm not exactly ready," Kerrianne interrupted. "I just - I just wanna be _prepared_." She picked at a thread on the hem of her zip-up sweatshirt. "I didn't even tell the lad I've been seein' I made an appointment."

Catherine loosened her grip on the steering wheel. How could she not respect Kerrianne for that logic? It took a weight off her chest to know Kerrianne had a decent head on her shoulders. Catherine was the same age as Kerrianne when her affair with Jimmy began, and birth control was the furthest thing from her immature mind. In retrospect, she was honestly shocked it took her as long as it did to get pregnant with Eamonn.

Dumb luck, she supposed.

Once in Dundalk, Catherine parked down the street from the clinic. Killing the engine, she reached into the backseat for her purse. Straightening in the seat, she found Kerrianne stoic, just straight ahead.

"You're absolutely sure ya wanna do this?" Catherine asked for the umpteenth time.

She remained apathetic. Catherine tried to figure out what was going on inside her poor head.

After a long minute, Kerrianne finally spoke. "Does it hurt? The exam - does it hurt?"

Running her fingers through Kerrianne's long ringlets, Catherine tried the best she could to put her worried thoughts to rest.

"You may feel a wee uncomfortable, but I promise it doesn't hurt. The alternative is childbirth and I'll be the first to tell ya that was the worst pain of me life."

A flash of fear washed over Kerrianne's face. "Is it really that bad?"

"Aye," breathed Catherine, trying to instill a healthy fear into her cousin. "Things I'll never speak of happened in the delivery room. Darragh once said it was like watchin' his favorite pub burn down."

Catherine pursed her lips to conceal the smile threatening to make an appearance.

Shuttering at the extremely vague picture painted for her, Kerrianne quickly unbuckled her seatbelt and darted out of the car.

While Kerrianne was in with the doctor, Catherine sat in the waiting room flipping through parenthood magazines. Seeing all the photos of newborn babies swaddled in their mother's arms intensified the nagging ache in her chest. Not having Danny home yet was wearing on both she and Dessie. It was creating an emotional wall between them, and Catherine was too tired to scale it.

Tossing the magazine on the table, Catherine rested her elbows on her knees as she looked around. Drumming her fingers along her chin, she stared long and hard at the young blonde woman sitting behind the reception desk. For a split second, Catherine contemplated making an appointment for herself.

After two seizures and blood pressure high enough to almost make her stroke out with Danny, Catherine feared the next inevitable pregnancy would end up killing her. However, being married to a man who was overzealous about his faith, Catherine detested the idea of having to be just as sneaky as Kerrianne if she was going to put herself on birth control, too. The pill Dessie was against, but he didn't seem to heed the Church's teachings on premarital sex or extra-marital affairs.

She decided it wasn't worth the fight. He'd eventually figure it out when she wasn't pregnant come Christmas.

After Kerrianne finished with the doctor, they hit the road to head back to Belfast.

Just as it had been on the drive to Dundalk, the ride north was just as quiet.

Catherine broke the silence. "So who's the lad?"

Kerrianne rolled her hands in her lap, unwilling to even look at Catherine. She couldn't decide how deep into her personal life she wanted Catherine to delve. Having her be the only one knowing about the contraception was one thing, but coming clean on the identity of her new beau could start a shit-storm of epic proportions.

"Seriously, Kerri. You can tell me," Catherine pried, a fat smile on her face. "Who's the hopeful fella?"

A small part of Kerrianne seriously considered telling Catherine he was a Protestant lad who lived on the Shankill. Confessing that lie left less shameful and cliché than the truth. But after how open, honest, and judgment-free Catherine's been all day, being mendacious seemed like the wrong path to choose.

"You have to promise me you won't tell my Ma. Or Jimmy, especially."

Catherine's heart fluttered and she went lightheaded for a split second. She didn't like where this conversation was going. At all. Now that she was a mother, hearing a teenager say 'please don't tell my Ma,' sounded the alarms in Catherine's conscience. Kerrianne wanted to keep this relationship on the sly and that hit too close to home for Catherine.

She was seeing someone she wasn't supposed to.

And that revelation squeezed Catherine between a rock and a hard place. Either way, Kerrianne knew she had Catherine's silence. A co-conspirator in the purchase of birth control pills, there was no way Catherine could tell Fiona or Jimmy about Kerrianne's relationship without implicating herself.

Keeping her eyes on the road, Catherine grabbed Kerrianne's hand. She gave it a reassuring squeeze.

"I promise I won't tell your ma or Jimmy. If it makes you feel any better to know, Jimmy and I…we aren't exactly in the stage of pillow talk anymore."

Kerrianne took a breath. "Brennan O'Farrell."

Catherine swore she blacked out. Brennan O'Farrell was not only Jimmy's most recent recruit, but he was also the True army's newest golden boy. No wonder Kerrianne didn't want Fiona or Jimmy to find out.

But Catherine couldn't give two shits about Brennan O'Farrell vanishing into thin air if Jimmy discovered the young lad was screwing around with his step-daughter. What made Catherine's hands tremble and tingle with numbness was the sheer panic she felt over Kerrianne falling down the same rabbit hole she never managed to escape.

"Brennan O'Farrell…that's a bad idea, Kerri. If you've half a goddamn brain in that wee head of your's, you'll end it."

"I asked you for a ride," Kerrianne snapped. "Not a lecture. If I wanted one of those, I would've gone to my Ma. Besides, Darragh was IRA, too, so I don't think you're the one who should be handing out advice."

Her spiteful words slapped Catherine across the face. She reminded herself Kerrianne was a hormonal, confused teenager. She had a tongue just as sharp when she was that age.

Reaching for her pack of cigarettes resting in the cup holder, Catherine lit one as she rolled down the window.

"Aye," said Catherine, smoke wafting from her mouth. "Darragh was IRA and look how that turned out for me. He was a bitter man, angry with the world because of the shite he did. And in ten or so years, I'll have to explain to my Sean how his da not only had his throat slashed so deep it nearly decapitated him, his eyes were dug out of their sockets. Trust me, Kerri. Fellas like Brennan O'Farrell…stay as far away as ya can."

Not taking kindly to Catherine's hypocrisy, Kerrianne couldn't drop it.

"If you don't like IRA men so much, why'd ya marry Dessie?"

"Dessie isn't in the Ra. Hasn't been for a long time."

A thick silence filled the car. Catherine flicked the cigarette out of the window and rolled it up.

Feeling brazen, Kerrianne asked the question she's been dying to know the answer to since she was a little girl. "Please be honest with me. Are you in the True army?"

Catherine's breath lodged in her throat. When she remembered how to breathe again, she answered. "I was."

Technically she wasn't lying. Kerrianne only asked about the True army, not ONH.

"Is my Ma?" Heartache strangled her words. "What about Filip? Was my Da, too?"

Glancing over to Kerrianne and seeing the fat tears of uncertainty bubbling in her eyes was nearly the undoing of Catherine. Her demeanor reminded Catherine all too much of the day she realized Patrick was an IRA man.

Hearing the truth would instantly turn Kerrianne's world upside down.

Only hardened, cold-blooded men like Jimmy were supposed to be in the IRA. It would destroy Kerrianne to know the father she only knew as kind-hearted had once been one of _them_. She'd never be able to look at Fiona the same way, too, if she knew her mother had been involved during the Troubles.

"No." This particular lie tasted extra bitter on Catherine's tongue. "Filip and Fi were never in the Ra."

Catherine gripped the steering wheel to tightly, her knuckles turned white. Kerrianne wiped the tears off her cheeks as she rested her head against the headrest.

Surely, there was no way any of this could come back to bite Catherine in the ass.

Once Catherine dropped Kerrianne off at home, she wandered into west Belfast with an objective. But first, she had to make a stop and acquire back up.

Knowing teenage girls all too well, Catherine had a hunch little of what she said about staying away from Brennan resonated with Kerrianne. If she wanted to protect her cousin from a life like her own, Catherine had no other choice than to take matters into her own hand.

Barging through the front door of her parent's house, Catherine found Patrick sitting on the couch. He was hunched over a plate of fried cabbage and bacon, a beer in one hand and fork in the other. He didn't even have a chance to offer Catherine a proper hello before she started talking.

"I need your help."

Patrick set down the can of beer and eyed his daughter carefully, realizing what kind of help she needed.

"Bat or Glock?"

A wicked smile spread across her lips. "Bat. There's a lad we need to knock some sense into."

* * *

From the driver's seat, Patrick anxiously smoked a cigarette, his eyes refusing to leave the front door of the Belfast pub. The sun had long since gone down, forcing him to rely solely on the dim street lamps for light.

Beside him sat Catherine. A balaclava covered only her hair. She rolled the clear beads of her rosary between her thumb and index finger, mouthing the Hail Mary in Irish. She prayed with conviction as if every word she uttered had the power to wipe her past clean of the blood she's spilled.

"You believe in God?" Patrick asked.

Catherine opened her eyes, gazing over to her father. He reached out and pulled the rosary from her hands, examining it like it were something he was holding for the very first time.

"I have to," Catherine said meekly. "Blessed be the Lord my rock," she began, "who trains my hands for war, my fingers for battle."

Patrick closed his fist around the crucifix. It felt impossibly heavy in his palm. "When I was a wee lad, Sister Mary Gallagher once told us those who have the greatest capacity for good, are also the ones who have the greatest capacity to do evil."

"Smart nun," Catherine chuckled.

"Aye. She was." Patrick handed her back the rosary, afraid if he held onto any longer it would burn his skin. "You, my baby girl, do have the greatest capacity for good."

Stuffing the rosary into the back pocket of her jeans, Catherine then lit a cigarette. She didn't know how to interpret what Patrick was saying.

"Is that meant to be a compliment? Because after what you just told me, it sure as shite doesn't feel like one."

"Eh." Patrick shrugged. "You've always been a lot softer, yet just as tough—if not more—than your brothers. You'd give a lad on the street the shirt off your back, but Lord have mercy on their soul if they cross you."

"Yeah, well…it doesn't feel like I've been doin' a whole lot of good as of late."

"I would disagree. Dessie told me you've been buyin' groceries for the lass down the street from youse since she lost her job. You've been volunteerin' at Daisy Hill with the sick kids-"

"I just wanna give back considerin' they've done so much for Danny."

"You're doin' all that because you know it's the right thing to do." Patrick grabbed Catherine's chin, gently twisting her neck so she would look at him. "Above it all, you showed mercy to Liam. What he did to you, Jimmy and I …he deserves more than a fuckin' bullet between the eyes."

It shattered Catherine's heart to hear Patrick talk that way about his eldest son. The betrayal she felt on her end was great, though she could only imagine Patrick felt it ten-fold. Still, she felt it was unfair Liam had been pushed into an organization he was too soft to handle emotionally. Catherine made Dessie promise he would do whatever it took to keep Eamonn, Sean, and Danny out of the life they chose for themselves. It was a no-brainer for the man who dedicated twenty-six years of his life to the cause—their boys would never know death, prison, and bloodshed as they did.

"I like to think Liam'll do the same for me when my day comes," she said. "Lord knows I've made my fair share of enemies in the six counties."

Movement in the corner of their eyes drew their attention to the door of the pub. Catherine grinned like the Cheshire cat when she saw Brennan stepping out onto the sidewalk.

"And speakin' of enemies, let's go make us another." Patrick put on a balaclava as Catherine pulled hers down.

From the floor of the backseat, she grabbed one of the aluminum baseball bats. She handed the other to Patrick.

Once Brennan started walking away from them, the pair jumped out of the car and jogged to catch up with him. They had to move fast. If Brennan heard the footsteps behind him, he'd look back. Seeing two people in balaclavas and wielding bats, he'd be stupid not to make a run for it.

And look back was exactly what he did at the sound of heavy rubber soles hitting the pavement.

"Shit!" he shrieked.

Catherine managed to hit him in the knee with the bat. Hard enough to take him down, but not hard enough to shatter the delicate bone.

Falling like a ton of bricks, Brennan shouted every curse word known to man. Patrick handed Catherine his bat before grabbing Brennan by the collar of his t-shirt and hoisting him to his feet. They dragged him around the corner onto a quiet residential street.

"What the fuck? I didn't fuckin' do anythin'!" Brennan yelled, doing his best to fight back. "You've got the wrong person!"

Catherine popped him in the stomach, and Patrick shoved him up against a brick wall face first.

Patrick snarled, "Kerrianne Telford-"

Brennan cut him off, groaning, "What the fuck did that bitch say?"

Not taking kindly to the way he referred to his niece, Patrick turned Brennan around and cocked his fist back, hitting the mouthy nineteen-year-old square in the nose. As blood spurted from his nostrils, Patrick and Catherine managed to switch place, with her now holding him against the wall, the bat pressed hard to his throat.

"You may wanna show a little more respect towards the fairer sex," she spat. "Stay the fuck away from Kerri. I find out you're still sniffin' around her—"

Brennan's hazel eyes stared deep into hers. Why did her voice sound so familiar?

"Catherine?" The giddiness of his tone made her heart skip a beat. "It's you, isn't it? You just wait 'till I tell Jimmy what you're doin' here in Belfast."

Well, fuck me, Catherine thought.


	82. It's Only Business

**Forkhill, Northern Ireland**

"I respect where your head was, but I'm pretty sure this is kidnapping."

Dessie stared through the window at the teenage boy Catherine and Patrick tied to a chair in the middle of the barn. They gagged Brennan with a torn piece of cloth stuffed into his mouth and held in place with duct tape. He wriggled in the chair, unsuccessful in his attempt to break free of the chain they used to secure his arms and legs.

"Since when are you afraid of a wee kidnapping?" Patrick asked, tossing his cigarette to the ground.

"I-I'm not," stammered Dessie. "It's one thing if we needed money. This is just askin' for trouble; he didn't even do anything and I think youse have forgotten I'm meeting with Jimmy in less than twelve hours. If he finds about this, he'll have our heads."

After lighting a cigarette, Catherine tossed the Zippo back to Patrick.

"It's not exactly stupid. Jimmy thinks he has the upper-hand, holding Rory as a bargaining chip. He'll tank his asking price to only the cost of the hardware in exchange for the bloody tout. But," she crooned, holding her index finger in the air, "if we show him we have the prodigal son, we can use it to leverage a better deal on our end."

"So…a prisoner swap."

"Now you're gettin' it." Patrick patted Dessie on the shoulder. "You're not as much of an eejit as I thought."

Dessie knocked Patrick's hand off of him. He hated to admit it was a pretty sound idea. Since Catherine told Dessie that Jimmy was holding Rory hostage, he'd been wracking his brain for weeks trying to figure out how he was going to make a profit off the AK sale.

Plucking the cigarette from Catherine's fingers, Dessie tucked it into the corner of his mouth. He took out his cellphone from the back pocket of his jeans and walked into the barn.

When Brennan saw Dessie trekking towards him, he began thrashing even more. His terrified howls echoed, not at all stirring an emotional effect on the ONH leader.

Holding out his phone, Dessie took a drag from the smoke.

"Smile for me," he said, snapping the photo.

Pleased with his photography skills, he slipped the phone back into his pocket. He wasn't going to let this rare opportunity go to waste. Dessie wanted to see just how loyal the scared kid was and ripped the tape off Brennan's face before removing the gag as well. Knowing Catherine and Patrick were watching him from the window, Dessie waved them in.

Brennan looked up at the three of them, never having been so scared in his life. In his mind, there nothing stopping them from killing him right then and there.

Catherine asked him a question she already knew the answer to, wanting to gauge just how much they could trust him if he did decide to start talking.

Jimmy had a mountain of intel on ONH thanks to big-mouth Rory. She figured it was only fair they had a sneak peek into the True army.

"Which port do Jimmy's shipments come in?"

Brennan responded by spitting on Catherine's boots. She kicked him in the mouth.

"When are the Kings makin' a visit to Belfast?" Dessie yelled.

The viciousness of his tone sent a chill through Patrick, and yet Brennan didn't budge. Being met with silence only pushed Dessie over the edge.

Dessie and Patrick met a glance; they were thinking the same thing.

Patrick placed his foot onto Brennan's chest, knocking the boy onto his back. Dessie reached for the pistol tucked into the waistband of his jeans, not looking to Catherine as he held up Brennan's hand and curled down all of his fingers except for the pinky.

"No! No!" screamed Brennan.

"Go fetch Connor," Dessie instructed flatly, placing the muzzle of the pistol to the base of Brennan's small finger. Hearing him use Connor's name in front of Brennan made Catherine realize Dessie no longer had any intention of letting the boy walk out of there alive. "And you stay in the house with the boys."

Remembering what happened the last time Dessie told her to stay out of the barn and she didn't, Catherine obliged without a fight. Leaving her father and husband, she left the barn and headed for the house. Halfway there, the sound of the pistol firing stopped Catherine dead in her tracks.

They weren't monsters, she convinced herself. They were products of war.

* * *

**Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland**

Freshly showered with a towel tucked loosely around his hips, Dessie crossed the hall into the bedroom. He stopped mid-stride, suddenly unable to think straight thanks to the drop-dead gorgeous woman occupying the room. His heart fluttered rapidly all the while his cock became impossibly stiff.

A breath lodged in his throat as Dessie's eyes followed her fingers. She clasped a strap on her garter belt to the black lace-trimmed stocking hugging the beautiful curve of her thick thigh. All he wanted to do was trace his tongue along the undoubtedly sweet-smelling skin and bury his face into the sinful place he craved most.

"Are you seriously gonna wear that?"

Taking her foot off the edge of the bed, Catherine spun around and looked at Dessie, bewildered. She ran a hand along the piece of white satin lingerie she wore snuggly around her hips.

"Aye," she crooned, biting her lower lip as she spotted the bulge under his towel.

He snorted, "Like fuck you are."

"Why not! Why can't I wear this? It makes me feel like an old hag wearin' tights, and it's not like any of the lads'll be gettin' a peek at my knickers."

Little did Catherine know, it wasn't the lads Dessie worried about. Closing the door behind him, he inconspicuously pushed the lock hearing the boys playing downstairs. He trekked across the room, eying her with a self-indulgent glimmer. Grabbing her by the hips, Dessie twisted Catherine around before tossing her roughly onto the bed.

She shrieked and giggled, trying not to ruin her perfectly blended makeup on the Turkish blue duvet.

Ripping the towel off of his waist, Dessie climbed on top of Catherine. He pressed feather-light kisses along her spine, his fingers expertly working to unhook the eyelets of her bra clasp.

She felt the velvet-smooth head of his cock brushing along her bare inner-thigh. Goosebumps prickled her skin; her brain fogged with the overwhelming jolt of desire frying every last one of her nerves.

"Because," he purred. Curling his fingers around the front of her neck, Dessie lifted her head to whisper into her ear. "If I know that's what you've got on under your skirt, there's no way in hell I'll be able to concentrate. Once you've got me chubbed, there's only one thing I can think about in this god-forsaken world."

Reaching behind her, Catherine placed her palm on Dessie's abdomen. She inched down, raking her nails through his coarse hair.

"And what is it you're thinkin' of?"

He took a sharp breath, squeezing his eyes shut as she held him firmly in her grasp. He pressed his cheek against her temple, groaning. She could smell the spearmint toothpaste on his breath as she swirled her thumb along his sensitive tip, smearing sticky beads of precum.

"What are you thinkin' about?" she asked again, this time more forcefully.

Dessie tried to form the words on his tongue, having found himself unable to remember how to speak. He was just about to show her instead when a wall clattering thud and the shrill cry of "Ma!" ripped the mood to shreds.

"Fuck," Dessie snarled through gritted teeth. "I'm gonna kill 'em, Cate. I swear to God, I'm gonna fuckin' kill 'em."

Releasing him from her hand, Catherine nudged a disgruntled Dessie off of her. Jumping to her feet, she quickly tied her knee-length robe so she could investigate the cause pulling her away from a much more desired activity.

Dessie sat on the edge of the bed, silently talking himself down from the murderous rage threatening to boil over. It had been two days since Catherine was given the all-clear from her doctor to resume an active sex life. All six times he tried to claim her body in the last forty-eight hours, Eamonn or Sean managed to find some way to cock-block him.

"Relax, killer." Catherine rustled his damp hair, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "I promise I'll make it up to you tonight."

"Promise?" he wined like a blue-balled teenager.

"I promise. And don't worry, if those wee shites ruin it for us, I'll murder 'em myself. Now get dressed; we gotta hit the road soon."

As Catherine walked towards the door, Dessie sprang forward to reach up her robe and pinch her ass.

"That doesn't sound very motherly of ya."

"Five weeks, Dess," she spun around waving five fingers. "It's been five weeks. If I don't have an orgasm soon, I'm gonna explode."

Once she left the room, yelling borderline threats of violence to her sons, Dessie flung himself onto the bed.

"Me too, baby," he huffed. "Me too."

* * *

**Drumintee, Northern Ireland **

It had been a month since Catherine last saw Jimmy.

She dreaded the very idea of being in the same country, let alone the same room as him. Stepping out the SUV, she could already feel the drunken butterflies fluttering deep within her belly. Dessie sensed there was something about this particular meeting throwing her into the arms of a bout of anxiety, but every time he asked she swore there was nothing wrong.

"I can't believe you talked us into wearing these monkey suits," Kieran said, tugging on the collar of his gunmetal gray button-down.

Catherine slipped on her black blazer before smoothing out the nonexistent wrinkles on her matching pencil skirt. "Trust me on this, please. Appearance means everything to Jimmy. If we go in there lookin' like the boys of the old brigade, he'll think he can steamroll us."

Kieran took a long drag from his cigarette, staring down hard at Catherine behind the lenses of his aviators. She had a point.

Dessie caught Kieran's attention as he grabbed his blazer from the backseat and put it on. The last time he had seen Dessie dressed in trousers and a blazer, they were in their final year of school at St. Joseph's.

"Well, if it isn't south Armagh's very own Dapper Dan," Kieran laughed.

"Go fuck yourself, Stumpy," spat Dessie.

Fixing the sleeves of his white button-down under the jacket, Dessie didn't appreciate Kieran's jab, despite it being a light-hearted attempt to lessen the tension. If he weren't feeling so unlike himself dressed like Jimmy's clone, Dessie would have found it funny.

"Youse are not fuckin' matching." Kieran pushed his sunglasses into his hair, running his eyes up and down the married couple. "That's bloody disgusting."

And he didn't mean it in a joking way.

Catherine opened her mouth to counter Kieran's taunt, but the words got lost somewhere on her tongue when Jimmy's Mercedes came up the drive and parked behind her SUV.

The three of them fell silent as Jimmy and Donny got out of the car.

"Shite," Catherine mumbled under her breath.

There was no ignoring the emotionless expression on Jimmy's face. He wasn't in a good mood. That would make their job about thousand times more difficult.

As the two men strolled up the drive, they didn't stop to offer any pleasantries.

Jimmy simply walked right passed them and tightly said, "Let's get this fuckin' over with," before heading to the safe house.

"Oh boy," Kieran snickered. "This is gonna be fun, innit?"

* * *

Clamping a cigarette between his teeth, Dessie snatched the fountain pen from Catherine's hand. On a scrap of paper, he scribbled down a number. Folding it in half, he slid it across the table to Jimmy.

Not really knowing what to expect, Jimmy went poker-faced. He peeked at the number, praying to God his brain was playing some sort of cruel joke on him. After a double-take, he realized the thirty-four-thousand pounds Dessie was asking for wasn't a gag. That was before he even shelled out a cut of the profits.

He wasn't mad, rather entirely insulted. Jimmy wondered if he had the word 'sucker' etched on his forehead.

"You wanna try a different number?" Jimmy asked condescendingly.

Blowing smoke from his nostrils, Dessie slowly shook his head. He was aware his asking price was off the charts, marking up the hardware by over sixty-percent of their market value. Being unreasonable right out of the gate was the only way Dessie could take control. If gave him a lot more room to negotiate.

Catherine spent weeks coaching Dessie on how to deal with Jimmy's tactics. If she let him sit at the table blind, Jimmy would mop the floor with him and he wouldn't even realize it was happening. They'd see pennies of the profits, leaving them lucky if they managed to break even when it was all said and done.

"We have overhead, just like you." Catherine's words were honeyed, leaving Jimmy more aggravated than he already was.

He never should have promoted her; never should have taught her the ins and outs of this illicit business. He put so much time and effort into molding her into the perfect IRA soldier he wanted, Jimmy failed to think about the possibility of her using his strategy against him one day.

Jimmy took a breath and unclenched his jaw. It would be all over for him if they saw they managed to get under his skin.

"Twenty-one."

Dessie snorted. "You're not gettin' 'em for cost. We're not a charity, Jimmy."

"There's no way in hell your overhead costs are nearly double that of the True army," chimed Donny.

"My overhead is none of your goddamn business. But it's no secret we don't have the same manpower as youse." Dessie stubbed out his cigarette. "Fewer bodies to move hardware through the counties means a bigger cut on their end. I'm not gonna stiff my men because you're too cheap. What I'm askin' for is - it's pocket change to you tiocfaidh Armani lot. Thirty-two, plus thirty-percent."

Leaning back in his chair, Jimmy couldn't help admiring the roaring fire he saw in Dessie. He believed so passionately in the cause, Dessie didn't think of himself as being above the rank-and-file volunteers. Jimmy understood this number wasn't necessarily coming from a place of greed. Dessie was just trying to make sure the men he commanded could put proper food on the table for their families.

He supposed he could respect that.

"Twenty-five; fifteen-percent," Jimmy said. "And I'll make sure you have the extra man-power you need to move the shipment when it comes in. At no extra cost."

Catherine jumped in, "We're capable of moving our sto-"

Under the table, Dessie pinched her thigh to shut her up. He didn't need her running her mouth when he just about had Jimmy right where he wanted.

"We can move the hardware; that's not the issue here. Twenty-eight; twenty-percent. That's my final offer."

Watching Jimmy purse his lips and go for the pack of Marlboro's in the center of the table, Catherine tapped Dessie's foot with hers. Jimmy was losing his nerve. He was about to tank the price again and throw in his Hail Mary.

Rory.

"Here's _my_ final offer: Cost, plus twenty percent. And," Jimmy reached into the breast-pocket of his jacket, tossing an envelope onto the table, "I'll throw in the grand prize."

Showtime.

Kieran picked up the envelope and opened the flap. He took out the two Polaroids, briefly gazing at them before passing them off to Dessie.

Taking a drag from the cigarette Catherine offered him, Dessie held the smoke deep in his chest as his eyes burned holes into the pictures of Rory. His stomach twisted, making him feel sick, seeing how happy-go-lucky Rory seemed sitting around a table playing a hand of cards with the True army men tasked with watching him.

Dessie's heart raced, his hands twitched, eager to crush every bone in Rory's pathetic body. But he couldn't let that eagerness show quite yet.

"Are these legit?" Dessie asked. He had to play off his ignorance, because as far as Jimmy was concerned, Catherine had left him in the dark about the ace-in-the-hole.

"Aye." Jimmy nodded. Then he nudged his chin in Catherine's direction. "She didn't tell ya? I told her weeks ago he was part of the deal."

All the color drained from Catherine's face. There was a chance he'd throw her under the bus, though she held on to a splinter of hope he wouldn't actually do it. It made sense after their unpleasant conversation in Dundalk.

"You motherfucker!"

Catherine caught Dessie and Kieran by surprise with her outburst. Her jumping up and reaching across the table in an attempt to grab Jimmy by the lapel of his jacket wasn't part of the plan. Dessie wrapped an arm around her waist pulling her back down into her chair. Maneuvering himself between the two so it wouldn't happen again, Dessie nearly lost his temper.

"Pull yourself together, right now," Dessie snarled at her.

She wasn't sure how to feel. By opening his mouth, Jimmy fully intended to sink her marriage and rip her from the ONH council. She wanted to scream until her throat turned raw and cry so hard her eyes swelled shut. As she looked at Jimmy over Dessie's shoulder, seeing the kind of man he really is, Catherine found herself laughing instead.

He wasn't fucking worth any of it.

With her shrill laughter filling the room, the four men wondered if she finally snapped and lost her mind.

"Are you done now? Are you done tryin' to destroy my life, or will you not stop until it's up in flames?"

Jimmy shrugged. "It's not personal, you have to understand that. It's business, a chuisle. You're not the only one worried about a bottom line."

Hearing the utter lie spill from Jimmy's mouth finally made Dessie's indignation boil over.

Standing up, Dessie shrugged off his blazer and draped it on the back of the chair. He undid the buttons around his wrists, folding the sleeves of his shirt up to his elbows.

"Outside, O'Phelan. Let's go."

Jimmy gazed at Dessie, a playful smirk toying with the corner of his mouth. If this is how Dessie wanted to settle an old score over some dumb broad, then so be it. Dropping his cigarette into the ashtray, he too stood and ditched his jacket so he could roll up his sleeves.

The reality of what was about to go down hit Catherine like a ton of bricks. She jumped up again, grabbing the back of Dessie's collar to keep him from advancing towards the door.

"Are you outta your mind? We're adults, not goddamn children. There won't be a Saturday afternoon donnybrook, understand?"

Reaching over his head, Dessie flicked Catherine's knuckles hard enough to make her let go of his collar. Turning around, he placed his hands on her hips and gently shoved her towards Kieran.

"Please keep her outta the middle of it."

Kieran nodded, wrapping his arms around Catherine.

"You bleedin' eejits are really gonna go through with this?" she yelled.

Dessie and Jimmy ignored her as they stepped out into the front yard.

Determined not to miss a second of the brawl, Catherine pleaded for Kieran to let her go.

"I can't do that, O'Toole. Dessie'll have my bollocks if I do."

Feeling rather jaded, Catherine nonchalantly slipped her foot out of the five-inch Louboutin pump. Kieran left her no choice. In a quick, fluid motion she thrust her heel into his crotch.

"You fuckin' bitch," he gasped, falling to his knees.

Donny winced, thankful that wasn't him.

Picking up her shoe, Kieran chucked it at Catherine, missing as she bolted out the door.

Sprinting across the grass in her bare feet, Catherine choked back her tears when Dessie stumbled backward after catching a hard right hook to the side of the head. Jimmy took advantage of him becoming dazed, landing several more blows. It was no secret Jimmy was far more experienced when it came to street brawls, though Dessie still managed to hold his own with a few sold cold-cocks which caught Jimmy off guard.

Kieran and Donny made it out just in time to watch Catherine leap on to Dessie's back, nearly throwing him off balance. She tried breaking the two apart. Her screaming demands for them to stop fell upon deaf ears and despite her now being in the middle, it didn't stop them.

"Should we jump in?" Donny wondered, glancing over to Kieran, who was cradling his aching testicles.

Snapping his Zippo closed with one hand, Kieran shuttered at Catherine's shrill screams. "Fuck no. This has been ten years in the makin'. It's about fuckin' time someone stood up to McPrick."

Donny couldn't disagree with that logic.

With the weight of Catherine on his back added to the fact he was already exhausted from trying to keep up with Jimmy, Dessie suddenly regretted his pack a day smoking habit. He was going lightheaded, realizing he needed to add more cardio into his workout routine. Ready to tap out, Dessie talked himself out of quitting. He didn't want to give Jimmy the satisfaction.

"Get the fuck off me, Catherine!" Dessie roared.

Stuck between not wanting to hurt her, and also not wanting to get seriously hurt himself, he tried pushing her off all the while fending off Jimmy.

Her legs were wrapped around him, ankles hooked and resting on his stomach. She was unintentionally choking Dessie out with her arms curled around his neck.

"Catherine!" Jimmy grabbed her wrist to shake her grip loose. "This doesn't fuckin' concern you so back the fuck off!"

"No!" she squealed.

Unhooking an ankle, she tried to kick Jimmy away from Dessie. That backfired when Jimmy took hold of it. When she started jerking to free herself of his tight grip, Dessie lost his balance and fell backward. Dropping his entire weight on to Catherine, the wind was knocked out of her.

At least that got her to let go of him.

Before Dessie even had a chance to digest what happened, Jimmy hoisted him to his feet. Without missing a beat, the men went back to their scrum.

Rolling over into the fetal position, Catherine held it together despite every muscle, joint, and bone throbbing. She guessed that was karma for the kick to the crotch she gave Kieran. That's why he didn't feel obligated to drag her out of the fight after watching her go down with Dessie.

Getting back on her feet, she took off her blazer and tossed it to the side. She had broken up fights between Patrick and Brien; surely she could break these two bastards apart.

Before she could intervene again, Dessie swept Jimmy's feet out from under him. He dropped down, too, twisting Jimmy into a headlock.

"Twenty-nine, fifteen percent, and Rory! You agree to that, and maybe I won't put a fuckin' bullet in Brennan."

Hearing the latter half of Dessie's deal, Jimmy stopped fighting to free himself of the hold. He gazed up at Catherine, wanting something much more than expendable Brennan O'Farrell.

"Kill the wee bastard for all I care. Twenty-nine, fifteen percent, Rory, and I get to keep seein' Eamonn."

Looking up to Catherine, a small part of Dessie's soul died. She didn't have to say a word; her eyes alone were begging him to turn down the counteroffer. With Brennan unwilling to divulge any of the information Dessie desperately sought, he didn't see any other way.

It was Catherine who managed to get Jimmy to spill about Rory in the first place. She was the only one in the entire universe who could manage to get Jimmy talking. If allowing him to see Eamonn on the regular was what needed to be done for Dessie to get closer to the Kings, he wasn't about to turn away such an opportunity.

"Fine," he said, trying to ignore Catherine's crying protest. "We've got a deal."

Dessie reminded himself it's only business.


	83. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

**September 2009 - Crossmaglen, Northern Ireland **

Dessie blindly felt around the nightstand for his phone. When he found it, he pressed the home button, only to be half-blinded by the light. Seeing that it was barely passed two o'clock in the morning, he shoved his face back into the pillow.

Surprisingly, that didn't seem to stop the ear-piercing wail coming through the baby monitor.

"You get him," Catherine pleaded.

He felt her sock covered foot dig into his hip.

Dessie groaned into the pillow, "Until my alarm goes off, he's your son."

"I've been up with him every night for the last three weeks."

"I've been workin' thirteen-hour shifts for the last month and I start another one in five hours."

Realizing this was a contest she wasn't going to win, Catherine abruptly conceded. Throwing the duvet off her body, she shivered once the cool air hit her toasty skin. Grumbling choice words under her breath, she left the room to tend to the fussing infant.

Curling his arms under the pillow, Dessie managed to find a comfortable position. He closed his eyes ready to drift off again, though he found it nearly impossible to do when he heard Catherine's soothing voice over the baby monitor.

"No more tears, my sweet Danny. Mamma's got you."

Dessie squeezed his eyes tighter, imagining Catherine holding Danny against her chest as she rubbed his back and tenderly kissed his head. He could hear just how exhausted she was, yet she never broke her benevolent tone.

"Sonofabitch," he muttered.

Tearing the plush comforter off, Dessie jumped out of bed wide-awake. Marching out of the bedroom, down the stairs, and into the kitchen, he made Danny's bottle before heading back up.

Stuck somewhere between utter fatigue and self-reproach, he understood it wasn't fair he'd practically forced the burden of caring for three kids onto her shoulders. He recognized the selfish behavior which destroyed the relationship between him and his daughters was once again rearing its ugly head.

This time around Dessie was older, wiser. Not to mention wholly in love. The love he had for his family would make the sleepless nights and weary days all worth it in the end if that meant keeping Catherine by his side.

He waited outside Danny's bedroom. It wasn't long until she emerged with the cradled baby still fussing in her arms.

"I made a bottle," he said, sheepishly showing it to her.

And then something happened he never could have predicted.

Standing in the hall wearing her baggy, bleach stained joggers, his Sex Pistols t-shirt, with her oily hair tied into a messy bun, Catherine started to cry.

"Thank you," she choked. "Thank you, so much."

He hadn't realized how defeated she was. After how strong she had been while caring for Eamonn and Sean after Darragh died, Dessie failed to stop and remember that hadn't been her choice. He promised her she would never have to fight alone again. And here he was, leaving Catherine out to dry when she needed him most.

Right then and there, Dessie decided he'd take a raincheck on a pint with Connor after work.

"C'mon," he urged. "I'll feed him in bed."

Reaching out, Dessie wiped her damp cheeks dry. She smiled weakly before heading down the hall to their room. He walked in first, setting the bottle down on the nightstand so he could turn on the lamp. Once the room filled with incandescent light, he nearly had a heart attack.

Over Danny's cries, he hadn't heard the faint giggles of two little boys.

"We scared ya!" boasted Eamonn, climbing out from under the blanket.

"Now you've done it!" Not giving them a second more to escape, Dessie wrapped them in his arms as he fell onto the bed.

Catherine's eyes nearly bugged out of her head. She snapped the waistband of Dessie's boxers, irritated that he thought two a.m. would be a good time to rile up Eamonn and Sean.

"Absolutely not!" she scolded. "If your wee arses aren't back in bed in five seconds-"

"We wanna stay with Danny," said Sean from under the blanket.

Tangled in Dessie's arms, Eamonn looked at her with big, begging eyes. "Please, Ma?"

Worn down beyond all belief, Catherine didn't have the vim to fight any more battles. She saw it as win-win; maybe they'd sleep-in.

"Alright, fine. But then it's straight to bed, and there better not be any lip."

Tossing Eamonn down, Dessie settled on his side of the bed before Catherine handed Danny to him. As he fed the baby, Sean curled up against him.

"I thought you said he wouldn't cry," Sean whispered. His small finger traced the blue and black nautical star tattoo on Dessie's shoulder.

Chuckling to himself, Dessie could sense Sean hadn't warmed up to Danny quite yet. "I didn't say he wouldn't cry at all. Think of it this way; when you get hungry or you're feelin' a wee sick, you tell us, yeah? When Danny's hungry or uncomfortable, cryin' is the only way he can tell us something is the matter. Ya just gotta be patient with him, Seany. It won't last forever. He's your wee brother, you've gotta help keep an eye on him just like Eamonn does with you."

Sean's expression softened as he moved his gaze from Dessie to Danny. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of his brother's head. "I'll be the best big brother ever."

When Danny finished his bottle, Dessie glanced over finding Catherine sound asleep with Eamonn in her arms. He could hear Sean's light snoring.

"Looks like we're the last men standin', Danny-boy," he whispered.

Setting the empty bottle on the nightstand, Dessie held Danny against his chest, gently patting his back. He didn't have the slightest clue why he was doing it, but he'd seen Catherine do it so he figured it was important. It had been over twenty years since he was last in charge of a small human, and so far it didn't seem as scary as it had when he was seventeen.

After burping Danny, Dessie looked at the time again on his phone. He groaned, wondering if there was any point in trying to get any more sleep considering his alarm was scheduled to go off in a couple of hours. Deciding drifting back off would more than likely end up doing more harm than good, he was about to exchange the iPhone for the television remote when it started vibrating in his hand.

Dessie's heart hammered against his ribs reading _Paddy O _sprawled out on the screen. Nothing good came from phone calls at three in the morning. Birth announcements and news of engagements waited until the light of a new day. A hard lesson Dessie quickly learned was that it was always death that came knocking in the stillness of the night.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Dessie quietly answered the call. "What's the craic, Paddy?"

"It's fuckin' rainin', come let me."

That was all Patrick said before ending their conversation.

Dessie moved slowly as he got up as to not wake Catherine, Eamonn, and Sean. He trekked down the hall to lay Danny back down into his crib before jogging down the stairs to the front door. After turning off the alarm system, he opened the door.

Olivia and Fiona barged in first, leaving Dessie bewildered as they shed their jackets and headed straight into the kitchen to start the kettle for tea.

Patrick stepped inside, took off his flat-cap and simply shook his head pointing in the direction of the women. "They're so rude. Waltzin' in like they goddamn own the place without even a hello to you. Where's Catherine?"

"Sleepin'…it's three in the morn, Paddy. The hell are youse doin' here?"

"Huh - figured she'd be up with the wee one."

Pushing passed Dessie, Patrick took the steps two at a time. When he reached Catherine's bedroom door, he gently opened it to find his daughter and grandsons curled up and out cold. The last thing he wanted to do was wake her up from sleep she undoubtedly needed, but this news couldn't wait a second more.

Crouching beside the bed, Patrick stroked her cheek with his knuckle. "Catherine…Catherine, I need ya to wake up."

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing the memory of the last time he woke her up like this out of his mind. She stirred, unwrapped her arms from Eamonn and shoved her face into the pillow. Patrick scrubbed his hand over his face, wishing like hell he didn't have to do this.

"C'mon, baby girl, ya gotta get up. Dessie, your ma, and Fi are downstairs waitin' for us."

She jammed her fist into the cream upholstered headboard beyond irritated no one would let her sleep. Placing his hand between her shoulder blades, Patrick rubbed her back like he had done countless times when she was a child.

Twisting her head to face him, Catherine opened her eyes slowly so they could adjust to the soft light from the lamp on the nightstand.

"Who's dead?" she asked groggily.

"No one. Not yet, anyway."

Taking a deep breath, Catherine hoisted herself up. Patrick moved back to give her space. He helped her tuck the boys in, and he kissed their foreheads before leading her out of the bedroom.

Once downstairs, Catherine was surprised to find Fiona standing in her kitchen stirring milk and sugar into five mugs.

"Ya look like hell," Fiona chuckled with endearment, handing Catherine a mug.

She raised her eyebrows and blew across the top of the mug, taking a sip. She took note of how Fiona's eyes were bloodshot and bloated. "That's motherhood, so it is."

Catherine brought her mug, along with one for Dessie, to the table. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her onto his lap. He thanked her for the tea with a kiss to the temple.

"Someone care to tell me why I've been dragged from bed at this wee hour?"

Olivia, Patrick, and Fiona settled around the table. Uneasiness washed over Catherine to see Olivia's face showed signs of crying, too.

What took Catherine by the most surprise was Fiona reaching out to grab her hand. She gave it a tight squeeze.

"Jimmy called with news from America," she said, choking back a fresh round of tears. "He didn't have much to tell; Eddie Hayes told him there was a car bomb at the SAMCRO clubhouse and Filip was hurt. He's in the ICU…at St. Thomas Hospital with a serious head injury."

Catherine froze. She badly wanted the words spewing from Fiona's mouth to be a lie, though the solemn heaviness told her it was far from. Ripping her hand from Fiona, Catherine dove straight for Patrick. He wrapped her in his arms, nuzzling his nose into her hair as her nails dug into his back.

She couldn't take it anymore. She wanted the bloodshed, the death, all of it to stop.

Hearing Catherine's muffled cries, Dessie dropped his head and wiped the stray tears sliding down his cheeks. He couldn't imagine the utter helplessness she felt with her uncle being hurt and so far from home. The news hit especially hard considering he was still healing from his accident two months ago.

Peeking up, Patrick saw Dessie slowly unraveling. Not because he was empathetic to his wife's melancholy, but because he too felt the void of Chibs' absence in Northern Ireland. It wasn't only Jimmy who helped shape Dessie into the volunteer he is, Chibs also had a hand.

Reaching out, Patrick grabbed Dessie's shoulder. He pulled Dessie, who slightly hesitated before giving in, and wrapped his arms around both Catherine and Patrick. What completely broke Dessie to pieces was feeling Patrick grip the back of his neck. Not in the intimidating, threatening way he'd done when Dessie first started dating Catherine, but in a way that brought warmth and comfort.

"He's gonna be fine, youse hear me?" Patrick croaked. His voice was thick, clearly trying to hold it together, too. "Half a lifetime in Belfast couldn't take him down; a goddamn car bomb across the pond won't either."

Olivia buried her face in her hands, afraid she'd start crying again if she kept watching Patrick try to bring solace to the two. It was difficult for a man like him to show his vulnerable side, but it always managed to come out when needed the most.

When Patrick let go of Dessie and Catherine, they settled back into their shared chair with Catherine wasting no time to light a cigarette.

"I'm headed to Charmin' tomorrow afternoon," Fiona told Catherine. "Youse should come with me. It would brighten Filip's spirits to see you, Dessie. And especially you, Catherine."

Her jaw trembling, Catherine rested her forehead in her hand. She couldn't shake the mental images of her uncle lying in a hospital bed without them. But jumping on a trans-Atlantic flight just didn't seem feasible.

"We - we can't go. Not with Danny home now, and the boys…"

"Since your ma doesn't like to fly, she's gonna stay here. She and I will watch the boys if youse wanna go for a week."

Dessie shook his head, taking a drag from Catherine's cigarette. "I'll stay back with 'em. Catherine you should go."

"No!" she shrieked, spinning around to face Dessie. "I won't go without you!"

Patrick's heart sank when he realized this wasn't Dessie just trying to be difficult. Sending Catherine to the United States without him when she'd surely be spending copious amounts of time with Jimmy wasn't something he would voluntarily do.

The cigarette still clamped between his fingers, Dessie grabbed Catherine's head and placed his forehead against hers. "You've no idea how badly I wanna go with ya, Cate, but I bloody can't. God-forbid anyone finds out I've left the country, my license'll defo be revoked and I'll spend the next thirty years in prison. It's too big of a risk for us to take right now; the peelers are still up me arse for the pipe bomb goin' off, you know that."

Catherine slapped her fists onto his chest. "But Jimmy-"

"You don't need to worry about him," Fiona interrupted. "If he's really there for business, he won't be around much durin' the day. And I don't think he'd try anything with me and the lads there. If you keep your distance, I'll make sure he keeps his."

While Fiona made the offer sound far more tempting, Catherine still couldn't bring herself to leave despite wanting to see Chibs so desperately.

"I can't go. I really can't leave Danny so soon."

Patrick and Dessie glanced at one another, with Patrick raising his eyebrows. He asked Dessie, "Are you gonna tell her, or am I?"

"Tell me what?" Catherine's eyes ping-ponged between her father and husband.

Exhaling sharply, Dessie stubbed the cigarette out. He drummed his fingers on the table for a moment, wondering the best way to delicately go about this given the circumstances. Turning to Olivia and Fiona, he didn't feel good about having to ask them for a moment alone.

When the women left the kitchen, Catherine slid into one of the newly occupied chairs. "Okay, what in the bloody hell is goin' on?"

"One of the ex-pats McKeavy used to meet with for help movin' hardware reached out to me about a week ago thinkin' I'm still part of Jimmy's crew," Dessie began. "The long and short of it is: the AK's we sold the True army may not be goin' to SAMCRO like Jimmy made us believe they are."

Catherine left Dessie and Patrick wildly confused when she got up from the table. It made sense when she grabbed a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard and three glasses. Sitting back down, she poured them each a healthy amount of booze. After tossing it back, Catherine poured herself another.

"So, Filip gettin' blown half-to-hell happened at the best possible time for you then, huh? Youse don't want me to go just to see Filip - ya want me to check up on Eddie Hayes and his da."

Dessie nodded. "I know it's a shite thing to ask of ya given what's happened, Catherine, but-"

"No, I get it. With ATF sniffin' around 'em, we can't have our guns just floatin' around. If they get into the wrong hands it could be disastrous."

"Just keep a close eye on Cammy and Eddie," instructed Patrick. "If you notice somethin' seems off, let us know. We won't hesitate to pull our hardware because we don't need this shite."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," she mumbled into her glass. "So I'm leavin' tomorrow afternoon then?"

Patrick polished off his whiskey. "Aye. We don't want you there for any more than a week. If Fi ends up stayin' longer, we'll get your arse on a flight outta there."

She snorted, "I've been flagged by Interpol, Da. I can't just get on an Aer Lingus flight, can I? Once immigration takes my fingerprints in customs, they'll arrest me and put my arse on the next plane out."

"Such wee faith ya have in your old man, Catherine Mary," Patrick snickered. "As much as I hate the bastard, Jimmy and I both agreed you and Fi flyin' commercial is outta the question. He's currently negotiating a price with a group of German smugglers who are headed to Nevada. They're former Luftwaffe, I guess. They'll be under the radars; no immigration or feds to worry about. Sprechen Sie Deutsch?"

"Meine Sprache," she said, tapping her lips, "international."


	84. Talk Dirty to Me

"Welcome to the United States of America, Miss. O'Toole."

A goofy smile was plastered on Jimmy's face as he held out his hand for Catherine. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed hold and jumped out of the cargo plane. With her feet finally on sturdy ground, Catherine couldn't help mirror his blithe expression. He dropped her hand to help Fiona.

The hot desert sun hit Catherine's face, and she shed the sweatshirt she had put on when she left the Republic of Ireland. Tying the sleeves around her waist, she gazed out to the trio of blacked-out SUVs a few hundred yards away. Luke Moran and his brother Kevin were leaning against the hood of one as they smoked. She wondered which Moran brother had been tasked with watching her every move while she was in California. Having Luke or Kevin lurking close behind would make it more difficult than she originally planned to tail Eddie and Cameron.

"Are these the only bags you packed?" asked Jimmy.

Snapping back to reality, Catherine turned around to see him pointing to the two Chanel duffel bags slung over his shoulder. It was somewhat surreal to see him carrying those again. He'd bought them for her before a trip to Paris, and the last time she used them was the last time he brought her to California six years ago.

"Aye." Reaching out, Catherine tried to take the strap off his shoulder. "I can take 'em so you can help Fi with hers."

He nudged her away. "Don't you worry about me. Follow Fiona; youse are ridin' with me."

"Thank you for not makin' me ride with Tweedledee or Tweedledum."

After kissing Jimmy's cheek, Catherine took off for the SUV's, climbing into the backseat as Fiona claimed shotgun.

Once Jimmy got Catherine and Fiona's bags loaded into the back, he went over the route one last time with Luke and Kevin who were scout drivers. With a seven-hour trip, Jimmy wasn't taking any chances.

Ready to hit the road, he started the SUV and pulled out behind Luke, ahead of Kevin. When they reached the highway, Jimmy broke the silence.

"How was the flight?"

From her purse, Fiona grabbed her compact and started touching up her makeup in the visor mirror. She tossed a quick thumb over her shoulder in Catherine's direction.

"Fine. Sleepin' Beauty over here was out cold before we even got off the ground; slept the entire time."

Jimmy glanced into the rear-view mirror just in time to see Catherine shrug.

"I think you're forgetting I have three wee boys under the age of seven, Fi." Catherine bundled her sweatshirt into a makeshift pillow and rested her head, looking forward to more sleep. "That was the most peace and quiet I've had in a very long time. Jimmy, you're not makin' me stay with the expats in Oakland are ya?"

"No, I figured you'd stay with Fi and me in Sacramento." While Catherine quietly celebrated the fact she wouldn't have to live in a derelict apartment building for the next week, Fiona glared at Jimmy. He could sense his better half wasn't happy with his decision to have his harlot staying with them. "What's your problem?"

Deciding against starting a fight when they had an extra pair of ears in such proximity, Fiona slipped on her sunglasses and leaned her seat back slightly. She followed Catherine's lead, catching up on some much-needed sleep.

* * *

By the time they crossed the California state line, the sun long since disappeared behind the horizon. In five hours, Jimmy could count on one hand how many words had been exchanged between him and Fiona. At one point he thought about waking Catherine just so he could have someone to talk to. Plus, he was anxious to hear what Eamonn's been up to since he left Northern Ireland.

Fiona glanced into the backseat, her expression not budging from an apathetic grimace. She stared down at the sleeping Catherine, who twisted herself into a position that looked wholly uncomfortable.

"She still asleep?"

"Aye," sighed Fiona. "Liv told me she doesn't think Dessie is helping much with the boys. The poor girl is being run so ragged I wouldn't be surprised if she ended up sleeping the entire time we're here."

Without taking his eyes off the road, Jimmy reached into the backseat and squeezed Catherine's ankle. He saw her and Eamonn the day before he left for the States. When he noticed the heavy dark circles making it look as though she had two black eyes, Catherine assured Jimmy everything was running smoothly at home. Hearing from Fiona that was far from the truth made his stomach drop. Catherine didn't want any more drama between him and Dessie, so he couldn't blame her for keeping it under wraps. But it left him resentful to the core Dessie was starting to pull the same bullshit he'd done with Eilish.

How much longer until Dessie started fucking around on her too, Jimmy wondered. That's if he wasn't already.

Seeing how upset it made Jimmy to know of Catherine's home woes, Fiona regretted not riding with Luke or Kevin. She'd always heard love and hate were two sides of the same coin. Jimmy and Catherine proved that to be true without the slightest hint of reasonable doubt. To hate someone as profoundly as they hated each other, there needed to be the same intense love.

She figured it was for that very same reason why she couldn't bring herself to file for the long-overdue divorce.

So Fiona guessed she couldn't be bitter over Jimmy and Catherine. For as long as those two were together, deep down Fiona never justified her feelings of being the scorned wife of a man who was having an affair. Even long before Chibs left Belfast, Fiona noticed how every one of Jimmy's relationships failed, because of one certain little girl. Catherine had been and would be the center of his universe until the day he died.

Contrary to the gossip flowing through Northern Ireland, Fiona knew with conviction Catherine was never the other woman. She'd been the mistress along - the one Jimmy chose out of righteousness as to not sour his reputation for bedding the young daughter and niece of his comrades.

"You still love her," Fiona sighed.

"Don't start, Fi. Not with her in the backseat."

Ignoring the callous warning, she pressed for more. "Why did youse end things if you're still in love?"

This was far from the time and place Jimmy wanted to have this conversation.

"Because…I don't fuckin' know," he said defensively, hostility strangling his voice. "She was so in love with me, but I seriously took advantage of her. I hurt her because I could. And every fuckin' time she'd look at me with tears in those blue eyes, I'd hate myself for being so toxic for her. Since she was a wee girl, she trusted me to be the one to protect her from the world, and the cruelest irony is that I became her biggest nightmare…that's why _she_ ended things."

Fiona couldn't help the way her heart genuinely broke for him. There were days where she caught glimpses of the soft, warmhearted man he used to be, but those times were now few and far between. It seemed Eamonn and Kerrianne were the only ones who could bring back those lost virtues. And sometimes Catherine - he tried so hard to be that man with Catherine.

Reaching across the center console, Fiona raked her fingers through the thick, heavily graying hair on the back of his head. For the first time in a long time, she spoke to him as the friend she used to be.

"It's because she confuses you; maybe even scares you a little, too. Your da was far from kind to you, Jimmy. Up until the day he bolted, he'd demean you for having feelings, because God forbid you felt something. Catherine - she makes you feel vulnerable and you don't know how to deal with that so you lash out. It may not mean anything coming from me, but you owe it to yourself to be vulnerable with at least one person in this world. Maybe then you can let go of everything you've been harboring."

Grabbing Fiona's hand, Jimmy kissed it. The small gesture brought a smile to her face. It meant the world to her.

Setting both hands back in her lap, Fiona twiddled her thumbs. "Are you sure about having her stay with us? We could put her up in a nice hotel for the week; she'll want the space."

"Is it her who really wants the space, or is it you?"

Embarrassed by the question, Fiona tried dancing around it. "I just thought we could use the time away from Belfast and Kerri to, ya know, try to reconnect."

"Ya thought wrong," he snickered. "Don't forget why you're really here; to see your husband. Catherine's staying with us and that's the end of it."

Sinking back into the leather seat, Fiona conceded. There was no point in fighting a battle she knew she'd never win.

* * *

By ten o'clock, Catherine was in her sweats and curled up in bed with her laptop and a glass of wine. Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, snapping her attention away from the engrossing episode of Gossip Girl. Pressing the space bar to pause it, she grabbed the vibrating device.

It was a text from Dessie. Since it was nearly seven in the morning back in Crossmaglen, she figured he was running into trouble with the boys before heading to work.

_Are you still up? _

She quickly responded that she was, asking if everything was okay at home.

Less than a minute later, her phone pinged again. _Believe it or not, I can take care of our children. _

_How's Danny?_ She pried. _I miss that precious wee boy so much. _

_For the next five minutes, there's no talk of Eamonn, Sean, Danny, Fiona, Jimmy, Filip, or especially your da. Got it? _

Catherine had a feeling where this conversation was going. _Why__…? _

_Because I miss my gorgeous wife and I've just enough time to have a wank before a long day. _

Ding, ding, ding. She knew him like the back of her hand.

Catherine more than indulged Dessie's desires. Her texts were so vivid and vulgar they'd make the Devil himself blush. Upon his request, she took it one step further.

Tossing the phone onto the mattress, Catherine jumped up and shed her sweatshirt, t-shirt, and bra. Plopping back down onto her back, she picked up her phone again, snapping the photos Dessie all but begged for.

Lost in her world, she hadn't heard the soft knocking on the door.

When Jimmy didn't get a response even though he could hear her giggling, he assumed it was because she had headphones in. Twisting the doorknob, he barged right in, and then wished he hadn't.

Seeing him standing in the doorway, Catherine shrieked. She fumbled with her phone, dropping it, so she could cover her exposed breasts with her hands.

"Jesus Christ, why didn't you fuckin' knock?" she lowly scolded.

"I bloody did! And why the hell are you half-naked?"

Hands still covering her breasts, Catherine stood. She clenched her teeth and sheepishly glanced at the iPhone lying on the floor. When it pinged twice in a row, the dots connected in Jimmy's head.

"You dirty girl." He smirked. "I hope to God the man receiving those pictures of your magnificent tits is Dessie - or me."

Catherine's face turned three shades of pink and she tried but failed, to play it cool.

"I wasn't sendin' anyone pictures of my tits."

Taking a step further into the room, Jimmy closed the door behind him. He knew she was full of shit. Picking her shirt up off the bed, he tossed it to her. While she let her guard down to make herself decent again, Jimmy seized the opportunity to snatch her phone off the ground.

"Hey!" she yelped. Jimmy turned his back towards Catherine to fend her off as he opened the thread of messages to Dessie. "Seriously, Jimmy, give me the phone."

"Mother'a Christ, this shites filthy." The more he scrolled, the more embarrassed Catherine became. "Oh how romantic…he said, I love when you're face down, arse up, and my balls are slapping against your clit." Now she was ready to crawl under a rock and die. "This – oh, this would make your da proud…When I get home, I'm gonna suck every last drop of cum from you. I'm curious, how come you never talked dirty like this to me?"

Wrapping her arms around him, Catherine pulled them both down onto the bed. It was a mess of flailing arms and slapping hands until she managed to wrestle it from him.

Slipping the phone into her pocket, Catherine sat on the edge of the bed. "What do you want?"

Lying back, Jimmy laced his fingers behind his head and crossed his ankles. "Wanted to see if you're settled in," he lied. He couldn't tell her he was bored and desperate for personal interaction after Fiona locked herself in the master bedroom with a bottle of wine.

After the invasion of her privacy, Catherine was less willing than usual to engage in casual chit-chat.

"Yup, all settled in. I'm gonna take a shower and head to bed so you need to leave."

"Yeah, okay."

Catherine was taken by surprise at the sincerity in his voice. As well as the fact he hopped right up to head for the door. Either he learned what personal boundaries were overnight, or there was something he was avoiding to tell her about. She guessed the latter. Him admitting defeat this easily meant only one thing.

"I know there's something you're not telling me," Catherine called out. Taking his hand off the doorknob, Jimmy turned around. "You and Eamonn have the same tell when youse are tryin' to hide something from me."

Raking a hand through his hair, Jimmy tried to gauge just how much she already knew. While it was very unlike Dessie to keep anything business-related from Catherine, they had agreed to keep her in the dark, thus out of the line of fire.

But she was a smart girl, already putting together the puzzle pieces.

Unbuttoning the first two buttons of his shirt, Jimmy walked to her and took a seat on the edge of the bed.

"Has Dessie told you…did he mention anything about takin' meetings in the Republic over the last month?"

"Aye; said he's workin' on recruiting the wee Fianna lads, among others."

While uncovering Dessie's shady business would bring him great pleasure any other day of the year, Jimmy was apprehensive about prematurely letting Catherine in on the recent agenda. He took a breath, unsure of how she would react.

"Well, that's not totally wrong. He and I have been recruiting together an-"

That had to be the most ridiculous thing she's ever heard. That's why the moment those words left Jimmy's mouth, Catherine broke into a shaking fit of laughter. She abruptly stopped upon seeing his brow indignantly furrow.

"I'm not takin' the piss here, Catherine. Dessie and I have an agreement. Together, we'll push the Kings out so I can take full control of the True army. He'll let me set up a couple of crews in south Armagh again so I can bring the guns in through Blackrock. In exchange, I'll let him have a battalion in Belfast and Newry, and he can move his smokes and the counterfeit booze through my pubs."

"Oh, wow. You're serious," she breathed. That was quite a lot of information to take in at once. "In theory, it's a brilliant idea. I do have to ask how in God's name do you bleedin' fools think it's gonna work when you're constantly at each other's goddamn throats?"

Because when it's all said and done, the only unit Dessie'll be commanding is the republican wing of HMP Maghaberry. But Jimmy wouldn't dare divulge that part of the plan.

If Catherine refused to sit by his side when he had full control of the True IRA, then the least he could do was hand her Óglaigh na hÉireann on a silver platter.

"Here's a wee life lesson, sweetheart," he said, caressing her chin with the bent knuckle of his finger. "It's called moving passed differences and being civil for the sake of what's important. As for Dessie and I, constructing strong, coexisting organizations is what's important to us."

As long as Dessie was fully on board and leading ONH in a direction they could all agree on, Catherine would lend her full support. While she could be convinced of the new strategy, there were some whom she worried would put up the mother of all fights to stop ONH from peacefully coexisting with the True IRA for as long as Jimmy's in charge.

"Does my Da know?"

"No. When he finds out your darling husband has agreed to a deal with me, he obviously won't be happy. So, Dessie's gonna set your old man up with a very cushy pension, because Lord knows he's damn-well earned his retirement. You gotta promise me you won't tell Dessie I told you."

Hearing that Dessie planned on pushing Patrick out of his chair on the council didn't sit right with Catherine. In her mind, Patrick deserved to be on the council more than any of them, including Dessie. Catherine never considered her father to be an unreasonable man when it came to making decisions for the Ra. He had never steered her or any of his comrades wrong. If Patrick's resistance to a new federation of Irish Republicans would make Dessie force him into retirement, Catherine sensed there was more than what she was being told.

And as for Dessie not wanting her to know either…

"Blackrock, huh?" Catherine asked, forcing the conversation in a different direction. She'd do her digging later. "Is SAMBEL okay with Donegal no longer bein' where the hardware comes in?"

Jimmy spoke slowly, "I couldn't give a single wee fuck what those SAMBEL cunts are or aren't okay with. All I know is since we started workin' with 'em in '87, the True IRA is nowhere near as profitable as it should be. I'm tired of SAMCRO thinkin' there's some friends and family discount on these AK's when we're tryin' to breathe life back into our dyin' fight, and SAMBEL is gettin' too big of a cut for their so-called help. In the last ten days alone, I've found buyers in three different cities who are willin' to pay almost double what SAMCRO would ever agree to. As for SAMBEL, I think it's time the Ra went back to handling their own business."

Catherine's heart dropped into her stomach as she tried to make sense of what Jimmy was saying, all the while thinking about Brien and Padraic.

"You can't just pull SAMBEL off the protection runs between Belfast and Donegal. The money the True army gives them for it is a large chunk of their monthly income."

He shrugged. "I fail to see how that's my problem. If they want to keep making money off the Ra, they'll have to prove who their loyalty lies with. They can either stay in Norn Iron and join our cause or join their _brothers _here in America."

Catherine thought she was going to be sick. SAMBEL was comprised of very few men who would join the IRA or leave their homes. Brien and Padraic were among them.

"And if they choose neither?"

"You know how it goes, a chuisle," Jimmy snickered. "A couple of broken fingers'll be the first warning, a thorough beating will be the second, and then if they still haven't made up their mind, the council will issue an execution notice. If I were you, I'd tell that brother and cousin of yours this won't be the time for that infamous Telford stubbornness."

Catherine snapped.

She shoved Jimmy down onto the mattress and pinned him down by straddling his hips. As badly as she wanted to beat his face in, she held it together. Releasing such a fury of anger when she had no one there to protect her was a suicide mission. Instead, she grabbed him by the shirt collar.

"If you hurt Brien or Padraic, I swear to God, I will come after you, Fiona, and Kerrianne."

Jimmy smirked. "You're cross with the wrong person. It wasn't my idea to make 'em choose in the first place; it was Dessie and Kieran."

"I don't believe you. Dessie has no reason to have such a grudge against SAMBEL he'd be willing to exile any of 'em."

Tightly grabbing hold of Catherine's wrists, Jimmy pulled on them until her fingers loosened around his collar. When she finally let go he pushed her over and then climbed on top of her. She put up a small fight but conceded quickly as he pinned her arms above her head.

"You don't know anything about the man you married, do you?" he taunted.

"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ," she mumbled under her breath. "Let me guess, this is where you're gonna try to convince me I've married some master manipulator who managed to hide who he is for the last decade because he was afraid I'd never get with him if I knew. You're pathetic, Jimmy; I see right through you. This is just another one of your fruitless efforts to push me away from Dessie because you can't stand seein' how bloody happy me and Eamonn are with him. Believe me, I know the man I'm married to."

Jimmy wasn't going to try to convince Catherine of anything anymore. He was so tired of having the same fights over and over. If she wasn't going to believe him, maybe she would if she saw it for herself.

"Do me a favor then. When you get back home, petition the Public Records Office in Belfast for Dessie's court records. He got five life-sentences and still went back to the Ra after early release…you're an eejit if you think a man like him wouldn't do whatever it takes to make sure the IRA gained ground again. That includes eliminating SAMBEL, regardless of your familial ties, Catherine."

Catherine knew Dessie was far from innocent; she didn't need to read his court records.

"Only if you tell me why Filip faced a court-martial, and how you got tangled up in it."

Pursing his lips, Jimmy broke eye contact from Catherine. He stared at the blinding diamond ring on her finger, wondering what the harm would be. If he admitted what he did - out loud, that is - for the first time since 1979 then maybe it wouldn't feel so heavy on his conscience anymore.

"We were still stationed in England, finishing up the last few weeks of our technical training before bein' deployed. I and a few lads in my company finished a six-mile run and I headed straight to the barracks so I could shower. Dropped my toilet bag and towel at the sink, undressed, headed into the showers, and there he fuckin' was. The goddamn tout was just goin' about his afternoon as if he hadn't ruined Filip's life. I kept my cool, went about my business. Then he had the fuckin' nerve to try makin' small talk with me. Next thing I remember, I'm smashin' the bloke's face into the floor…over and over and over."

Catherine didn't have the slightest clue what to do with that information. It was far more than she could swallow, not expecting Jimmy to actually indulge her ultimatum.

"And you didn't get caught?"

"Everyone in my battalion, officers included, knew I was guilty as sin. Even the British army has a code of silence - they didn't say a fuckin' word. As far as the Royal Military Police were concerned, I had a seven-mile run that day; I wasn't anywhere the barracks when it happened."

Jimmy watched as Catherine's brow furrowed in confusion. She shook her head.

"That can't be what happened. I - I've read through your records about a dozen and a half times. Nowhere in there did it mention you were part of any RMP investigation."

"When are you gonna learn, a chuisle?"

Muttering in Irish, Catherine wished Jimmy would let go of her wrists so she could slap herself. She should've known getting her hands on those documents was far too good to be true. Of course, he got his hands on them before Kerrianne did. If he took out the pages about that incident, she wondered what else he was trying to hide from her.

"How?" she asked. "You're never home!"

"I guess it was my lucky day. They were delivered like a week before, and then I mixed 'em back in with the mail again. I honestly had no idea it was you who filed the request. For the life of me, I thought it was Kerri, so I was genuinely surprised when you were the one who brought it up."

Finally breaking free from Jimmy's stronghold, Catherine nudged him off of her and sat up. She buried her face in her hands, trying to make sense of both atomic bombs that had been dropped on her in less than an hour.

She had her passport. She wondered if customs and border patrol would still arrest her if she tried leaving the country. At this point, all Catherine wanted to do was go home and pretend none of this even happened.

Learning that Dessie and Jimmy had suddenly become friends without her knowledge was something she could deal with. But after hearing what Jimmy did to protect Chibs while they were in England, Catherine was no longer sure that was a can worms she wanted to voluntarily open.

As much as she hated to admit it, Jimmy was right. This was something she shouldn't be sticking her nose into; she needed to let it die.

On the other hand, now that she was privy to what those two had planned for the Kings, Catherine would be damned if they were going to make her sit on the sidelines. This was just as much her endeavor as it was theirs.

"Whatever you and Dessie have planned for the Kings and SAMBEL," she looked over her shoulder to him, "I want in. But only under the condition, you promise nothin' will happen to Brien and Padraic."

Jimmy knew he was in no position to make the promise Brien and Padraic wouldn't be in the pile once bodies inevitably started stacking up. But if that's what she needed to hear, that's what he'd tell her.

Jumping up onto his knees behind Catherine, Jimmy wrapped her in his arms. He pressed several kisses to her temple. "I promise nothin' will happen to 'em. Get to bed, I'm gonna need your help with somethin' tomorrow."

"Fi and I are goin' to St. Thomas in the morn' to see Filip."

Jimmy assured, "It's just a quick wee errand. I'll even drive ya to the hospital afterward and wait in the carpark until you're done."

Catherine nodded. "Now get out. I'm gonna take a bath and for obvious reasons, I don't bloody trust you being in here after what happened the last time we were here together."

Jimmy gathered her hair in his fist, moving if off the nape of her neck so he could kiss the warm flesh.

"If I promise to behave," he said in-between kisses, "will you let me stay? There may be a neck and back rub in it for you."

His hands darted right for her shoulders, his strong thumbs working the knots out of her twisted muscles. Catherine groaned, hating herself for giving in.

It was too good of a proposition to pass up.

"Fine. But your hands stay where I can see 'em."


	85. Phat, Not Fat

Jimmy sat at the wrought-iron patio table, lighting a cigarette as the soft warmth of the morning sun beat down his neck. Blowing a smoke ring into the air, he scrolled through the email app on his Blackberry, not in the mood to respond to any of the borderline injudicious questions which filtered through overnight. Reading a particularly stupid message from Donny, Jimmy wondered if he'd ever find anyone with half a brain to take care of business in Northern Ireland when he had to leave the country.

There was one woman who was worthy of the adjutant position, but unfortunately, there was no convincing Catherine that coming back to the True army would be worthwhile.

Setting the cigarette into the ashtray, Jimmy took a sip of his French pressed coffee. A chill jolted down his spine, the flavor of the cheap scotch he poured in was far more overpowering than he thought it would be. Nevertheless, the pungent coffee and booze concoction was the kick in the ass he needed to get a start on his long, samey day.

"Fuck me," he breathed, clicking on the notification to read the message Dessie sent him over WhatsApp.

Dropping the Blackberry onto the table, Jimmy flipped open his burner and dialed the phone number which came over the second message. Tucking the cigarette into the corner of his mouth, he took a deep drag hoping this call wouldn't embitter him.

As Jimmy expected, it didn't take long for Dessie to answer the call. He figured the bloke was on his lunch break. Doing the math in his head, realizing it was early-afternoon back home.

"You know, I tried callin' you like half a dozen times, asshole," said Dessie through a mouthful of food.

"I know, I watched my phone ring all seven times. You're like a stage-five clinger; can't take a bloody hint."

Dessie snorted, "Believe me, talkin' to you isn't something I'm doin' for shits and giggles."

"Then what the fuck do you want?"

"I can see you're still as pleasant as ever." Over the line, Jimmy could hear some rustling around. He had no idea Dessie was eating lunch in his car. "It's about Catherine. The other night when Fi and Liv came over to tell her about Filip, Paddy was wit' 'em and he unintentionally cornered me into tellin' her about Cammy and Eddie. He told her to keep an eye on the lads and report back if she thinks they're up to anythin' dodgy."

Jimmy fell silent as he crushed his cigarette and pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried to wrap his head around what Dessie just told him but considering he was running on hardly any sleep, this proved to almost be information overload. He wanted to blow up on Dessie — scream at him for allowing Catherine to even get on the fucking plane when she was armed with such a task.

Taking a sip of his J&B infused coffee, he let the liquor soothe his flustered nerves. None of this was Dessie's fault, Jimmy reminded himself over and over. There's no way in hell Dessie would purposefully put himself in such a compromising position.

"I have a feeling that isn't even the worst part."

Dessie wouldn't have been overwrought in his attempts to get ahold of Jimmy if that's all he wanted to tell.

"Aye," huffed Dessie. "Those two've no idea there was a vote between me, Kieran, Connor, and Jack about this shite. They still think the hardware is goin' to Samcro, so if she sees Cammy and Eddie handin' over the holdalls or even meetin' with someone who isn't in a goddamn leather kutte, those two'll put pressure on me to renege on our original deal."

"Jesus-fuckin'-Christ. What do ya want me to do? Should I put her arse on the first flight back? If we tell her somethings up with one of the boys she'll-"

Dessie interjected, "Not a chance. If we rush her home and she gets here to find everything and every one just as she left 'em, she'll defo know somethings up. You just gotta keep an eye on her, Jimmy. Can't let her get close to Cammy and Eddie when she's alone."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that when I've got shite to do? Can't be fuckin' babysittin' here," he hissed.

"I don't fuckin' know! Make it…take-Catherine-to-work-day. Hand over the Visa and tell her to go shoppin' — let her spend your money and not mine for once."

Jimmy took a deep breath and then assured Dessie he'd figure something out. This was the last fucking thing either of them needed.

"Listen, I gotta go." Dessie paused, and Jimmy could hear the melancholy dripping from his words. "Keep an eye on Catherine, yeah?"

Jimmy knew Dessie was speaking in terms of more than just her emotional wellbeing. After the two men finally came to blows nearly a month and a half ago, it felt as though the scrum turned a new page for them. That's why Jimmy felt the right to do was tell Dessie that Rory had shared information about Catherine with MI5, which ended up being forwarded to the FBI, ATF, and Homeland Security.

Unfortunately for Dessie, the afternoon he went to the True army safe house to collect Rory from their custody, they found him in a back bedroom lying cold and blue on a blood-soaked mattress. Determined to go out on his terms, Rory slit his wrists while a couple of blokes played cards in the kitchen.

Unable to extract answers from him, there was no way for Dessie and Jimmy to know just what exactly the federal agents knew about Catherine. With her now being on American soil, they had to tread as if there were a shoot-to-kill order hanging over her head.

"Of course," Jimmy said softly. "I promise she'll come home to you alive."

"That's all I ask." Dessie cleared his throat and then threw a jab. He couldn't be a pussy and end their conversation on a sappy note. "And don't even think about shaggin' my wife or I'll fuck you up again."

The line went dead before Jimmy had a chance to say anything back. Snapping the phone closed, he tossed it beside his Blackberry and picked up a cigarette.

"Fat fuckin' chance," he snickered.

* * *

Fiona woke to the tantalizing scents of fresh coffee and frying sausages. She slowly opened her eyes, giving them a chance to adjust to the sunlight before pushing the thin quilt off. Planting her feet on the floor, she reached for her watch on the nightstand to check the time.

It was only eight o'clock in the morning.

Still trying to get used to the time change, the jet lag was setting in hard and fast. She barely slept a wink last night, not because of physical restlessness, but rather because her mind played horrendous jokes on her. Between the hours of midnight and five a.m., Fiona got up seven times just to make sure Jimmy was still sound sleep on the couch. Every time she was about to drift off to sleep, she swore she heard the creak of Catherine's bedroom door opening or filthy indecent noises.

Living under the same roof as Catherine and Jimmy for the next week would surely drive her mad. Fiona understood the complications that came along with Catherine no longer being a senior member of the True army. Even if Jimmy had decided to dump her off at the derelict apartment in Oakland, the men who lived there would never let her step one foot through the door. She didn't think she was asking for much by not wanting Catherine in the already tense living space, so Fiona could only assume Jimmy was doing this for his sick entertainment.

After getting up and stretching, Fiona grabbed her robe. She tied the belt around her waist as she trekked down the hall, following the smell of breakfast into the kitchen.

"Wonderful," she mumbled under her breath.

It wasn't Catherine, who she expected, but instead, Jimmy who was manning the stove.

He glanced over his shoulder, his smile dropping when he too realized it wasn't the woman he'd been hoping for. Turning his attention back to the French toast and sausages, he echoed Fiona's less than enthusiastic bid of "good morning."

Once she poured herself a cup of coffee, Fiona swiped the newspaper off the counter and went straight for the table. She absently pursed the politics section of the _Sacramento Bee_.

Jimmy platted a stack of French toast and brought the piled-high plate to the table along with a small bowl of fresh raspberries and blackberries. Fiona eyed the provisions suspiciously; she'd never seen Jimmy eat, let alone prepare a meal with fresh berries.

But she knew someone who ate them like a fiend.

"Where's Catherine?"

"She went for a run," he casually said. "Left about an hour ago. She should be gettin' back any minute."

Fiona took a sip of her coffee, nearly choking when he set down a bowl of icing sugar instead of syrup and butter. The fruit wasn't Jimmy trying to add variety to their breakfast — he'd made breakfast exactly the way Catherine liked it.

"Oh, my God," spat Fiona in repugnance. "You shagged her last night."

Jimmy would have laughed if he wasn't wholly insulted by her accusation. He dropped the plate of sausages on the table and then lit a cigarette. Leaning against the counter, he shook his head. It wasn't an answer to Fiona's charge — he was shaking his head at how childish she sounded.

"If I did, when would I've had the chance, huh? You checked up on me every five bloody minutes; you know I didn't move all fuckin' night. She's havin' a hard time bein' away from the wee boys so I figured I'd do something to help her feel better."

Fiona felt more embarrassed more than anything. She didn't know Jimmy was privy to her late-night bed inspections, though the fact that he did, told her that he didn't get much sleep either. And with Catherine gone on an early morning run, it was safe to assume neither did she.

The three of them sleep-deprived and homesick was a recipe for disaster.

"She's gotta go. You know I'm not comfortable with her here."

He rolled his eyes, ashing his cigarette into the sink. "I've been tellin' you for the last six years, nothing is going on between her and me."

"I don't give a shite. You're still in love with her, Jimmy, and the last thing I need is the added stress of her being here when I'm already in knots over Filip."

Fiona wished she could take back what she said about Chibs the moment those words left her mouth. Her stomach twisted when she saw the familiar devilish smirk toy at the corners of his mouth. It was the first sign he was preparing to spit venom.

"Are you sure startin' another row with me over Catherine bein' here when I'm letting you go see the husband you still love with, is a brilliant idea?"

Fiona recoiled as if Jimmy slapped her. "Oh, you're _letting_ me see Filip?"

Jimmy strolled to the table. He dropped his cigarette into Fiona's barely touched cup of coffee and placed both hands down to lean in closer to her.

"Aye; this has fuck all to do with you, Fi. It's for Kerri. After we put Brennan O'Farrell in the ground, Catherine told me he and Kerri had been seein' each other. The last thing the wee girl needs on top of dealin' with that is wondering whether or not her da is still alive. You're gonna see Filip, let her know he's fine, and then go back to Belfast as if none of this ever happened."

"You keep Catherine here, and I'll bloody tell Kerri it was Dessie who put that bullet between the lad's eyes."

"Go for it," Jimmy challenged. "You think I give a shite about what Kerri thinks of Dessie, or if she has a relationship with Catherine? But just know, if you utter a single fuckin' word, you'll be right there in the ground with him because I don't put up with touts."

The problem with speaking before thinking was that too often things were said which held no weight. Jimmy called her bluff, thought it wasn't worth the risk to call his. It's not like she would tell Kerrianne in the first place —revealing to her daughter that Catherine and Dessie were involved in the cause would be irresponsible. It didn't matter how much Fiona despised Catherine, outing her involvement to anyone was something she'd never do.

Finally figuring out that convincing Jimmy to send Catherine away wasn't a battle she would win, the only she could do was drop it. To some extent, it wasn't exactly her feelings of resentment acting as the driving to get Catherine out of the house. With thousands of miles and an ocean separating Dessie and Catherine, Fiona just wanted to make sure the young woman wouldn't anything that would annihilate her marriage.

If anyone knew just how persuasive Jimmy could be, it was Fiona.

Fiona opened her mouth to say something, but she was silenced by the sound of the front door opening and closing.

"It smells so good in here!" Catherine's muffled croon came from the foyer, where Jimmy figured she was ditching her shoes and sweatshirt.

His stern grimace was the final warning to Fiona. She smartened up, not wanting to ruin her chances of safely ending up back in Belfast.

Watching Jimmy's gaze lift upwards and how his pout turned into a jubilant smile made Fiona sick to her stomach. She didn't have to hear Catherine's voice to know Catherine was standing behind her.

"How was your run?" he warmly asked.

Catherine sashayed to the coffeemaker, completely ignoring the spread Jimmy had laid out on the table. "It was fine. Of course, the views I had here don't hold a bloody candle to south Armagh."

Jimmy and Fiona both had eyes glued to her, but for wholly different reasons. The tight sports bra Catherine only wore on her top half, left an ample amount of cleavage for Jimmy to drool over. Fiona felt the stinging claws of jealously over how tight and toned her curves were even after three pregnancies. The elastic band of her joggers sat above her wide hips, accentuating her small waist.

There wasn't a single blemish to be found on her creamy skin. Fiona lost all desire to eat with a body like Catherine's being flaunted in front of her. She wondered how it was even possible for her not to have a single — noticeable — stretch mark.

No wonder Jimmy and Dessie were fighting over her, Fiona thought. There was no way she could compete with that.

Jimmy licked his lips, tasting the saltiness of her skin as he imagined kissing the length of her spine. He was so deep in his lewd imagination, Jimmy didn't notice Fiona's eyes were burning holes into him.

Unaware of his gawking, Catherine poured herself a cup of coffee. She grabbed a handful of pink Sweet'n Low packets, dumping the sugar substitute into the black liquid.

"That shite'll rot your insides." Jimmy pointed to the empty packets on the counter beside her mug.

"Aye, so it will." Catherine licked the spoon she used to stir. "But I'd rather have rotten insides than a fat arse."

"Yeah, well, who says your arse isn't fat already?"

Catherine spun around, taking a sip. "For your sake, you better be referring to my arse as p-h-a-t, and not f-a-t."

"It's been too long since I've seen it up close, so I can't be certain if it's p-h-a-t or f-a-t. If you would be so kind and show me, I'll be able to give you a definitive answer."

Fiona wasn't sure how much more of this shameless flirting she could take. A part of her did wonder if he was doing this just to spite her and make her feel uncomfortable. The only thing that kept her from gagging, was imagining Filip doling out a rightful beatdown if he heard the way Jimmy spoke to Catherine.

Catherine narrowed her eyes, a playful smirk threatening to make an appearance. "Smooth, O'Phelan — very, very smooth. Mega props for tryin'. Well, I'm gonna jump in the shower so we can head out."

Armed with her coffee, Catherine started making her way out of the kitchen.

"Oi!" Jimmy called out to her. "Get your arse back here and eat! I didn't toil over a hot stove for all of this to go to waste!"

He heard her muffled response from the bathroom. "I'll eat when I'm done."

Satisfied, Jimmy sat down at the table and started making himself a plate. He looked up to see Fiona bitterly staring at him.

"What?"

"You're a bleedin' degenerate." Reaching across the table, Fiona took Jimmy's coffee. She stood up so she could head back into the master bedroom and start getting ready to head to St. Thomas. But before she left, she offered some words of wisdom. "For the love of God, keep your cock outta her. That kind of drama is the last thing any of us need again."

Digging into a mound of French toast, Jimmy shrugged. "Can't make any promises, love."

* * *

Catherine shut off the water and pulled the curtain back, jumping nearly a foot in the air. Her brain hadn't registered it was Jimmy sitting on the vanity, so she instinctually wrapped the curtain around her body.

"Oh, relax," he snickered. Picking up the towel beside him, he tossed it to Catherine, who caught it one-handed. "No use in hiding what you've got when I've seen ya naked a million times before."

Shaking the towel open, Catherine couldn't get it tied around her fast enough. Thankfully her skin was already flushed from taking such a hot shower, the burning blush glowing on her cheeks went unnoticed by him.

During their relationship, she had never been shy about her body, despite the cellulite, thicker than average thighs, and a small pouch of a belly. But now, that stupid little scar she was left with after the C-section sank the last ounce of confidence she managed to hold on to during her pregnancy.

She shook off his impolite comment, holding the towel tight, wiping beads of water off her face. "What do you want, Jimmy"

He didn't answer her right away. Instead, Jimmy carefully watched Catherine as she stepped out of the tub, going straight for her toothbrush and toothpaste. Only when she started scrubbing her pearly whites did he come crashing back down to Earth.

Since his early morning conversation with Dessie, he's been busy formulating a plan on how to keep Catherine away from Cameron and Edmond when he couldn't be there to chaperon. While Dessie didn't want Catherine to know what the father-son duo was up to, Jimmy wondered if keeping her in the dark completely would end up doing more harm than good.

"So," he started, "there's somethin' I gotta tell you. Turns out Cammy and his wee boy've been makin' some business decisions on their own."

Catherine held her wet hair back and spat a glob of foam before rinsing her mouth. Her heart nearly leaped from her chest from a combination of excitement and anxiety. She was thrilled to hear Jimmy straight out admit the Hayes' were up to no good, though she still took what he said with a grain of salt. His track record of honesty wasn't exactly glowing.

"No shit. What've they been up to?"

Jimmy was a little hesitant to go into the whole truth, wanting to keep some of what they were doing close to the chest. But then maybe, in the end, this would end up working out in his favor as Dessie was still slightly skittish about trusting Cameron to come through. He knew she couldn't keep a business secret from her husband — if Dessie heard it straight from her, then maybe he'd see Jimmy's word was good.

"They've started sellin' off the Russian stock to some gangsters up north."

Catherine went lightheaded for a quick second. "Are you sure? Because if it's true, Dessie'll shite bricks, so he will. He didn't even want anythin' to do with the goddamn gun-running."

"I know that," Jimmy mildly snapped. "Which is precisely why you cannot tell him. It was difficult enough to convince him to sell us the stock, I don't think I'll be able to convince him to keep up his end of the deal."

"Aye," breathed Catherine. Out of caution, she lowered her voice. "The plan youse have for the Sons… do you have a new buyer yet?"

Wanting to hear what was on her mind, Jimmy indulged his curiosity and told her the truth. "Not yet. I'm meetin' with some blokes today though. That's why I wanted you to come along with me; I need this deal to work out, and for that to happen, I'm gonna need your goddamn delightful Irish charm."

"Oh, Jesus. By Irish charm ya don't mean my sparklin' personality," Catherine boosted her large breasts with her forearm, "you mean the lucky charms." While she giggled away, Jimmy furrowed his brow. He didn't find her joke nearly as funny as she did. Realizing that, she turned serious again. "Regardless, I promise I won't say anythin' to Dessie. We don't have another buyer for the hardware either, so if he drops you, we're gonna be left with a surplus of AK's and a deficit we cannot afford. Since the goal is to phase out the Sons, I'll help you secure a new buyer while I'm here. If we find someone I like, it shouldn't be too hard for me to sway Dessie. In return for my services, that means the True army'll owe ONH a favor."

Jimmy couldn't deny it was a sound plan. A plan that would take him longer than two minutes tops to come up with, nonetheless. If all she wanted in return was a measly favor, then it was a no-brainer. For Catherine, he would do whatever she needed him to do so she could be successful in ONH's campaign, no quid-pro-quo required.

"Done." Jumping off the vanity, Jimmy placed a hand on her hip and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. "Thank you, a chuisle. And please, never again refer to your tits as lucky charms."

If she weren't so flustered by the kiss, Catherine would've punched his shoulder.

Without another word, Jimmy opened the door to leave. He bumped into Fiona. When she looked over his shoulder and saw Catherine wrapped only in a towel, she took a sharp breath, and her features hardened. Her reaction told Jimmy exactly what Fiona had on the brain.

"I kept my cock outta her!" he exclaimed, highly defensive.

Unsure of the context surrounding his outburst and not wanting to know anyway, Catherine didn't bother asking. As Jimmy trudged down the hallway, Catherine tried leaving the bathroom so she could get dressed. Fiona stood in the doorway, blocking the only way out.

Catherine gruffly said, "Don't get your knickers in a bunch. I let him in so we could talk about somethin', that's all."

Fiona couldn't care less about their bathroom rendezvous when there were other pressing matters.

"How much did you hear last night?"

She was talking about the _small _argument which had broken out between her and Jimmy sometime before midnight. A lot of nasty words were thrown around and Fiona had a feeling Catherine overhead many of them.

"Enough to know what you think of me. I didn't know there were so many words synonymous with the word whore."

It was somewhat self-satisfying for Catherine to watch Fiona become embarrassed. The name-calling was in the heat of the moment, although Fiona didn't feel very apologetic at all.

"It's not like you don't deserve it." Pushing thick ringlet curls out of her face, Fiona checked her watch. "I'm leavin' for St. Thomas in twenty so you'd better be ready."

"You go 'head without me," she said meekly. Catherine looked down to her feet, trying to figure out how she was going to explain this. "Jimmy needs my help with somethin'; he asked me about it last night. When we're done, he's gonna drop me off by St. Thomas so I can see Filip."

Resting her hands on her hips, Fiona viciously muttered, "That selfish, miserable prick." Her tone quickly softened. "Do you want me to talk to him? See if I can get ya out of it?"

After what she overheard last night, the last thing Catherine ever expected was Fiona to extend a line for help. She deeply appreciated the offer, but there was a small part of Catherine which was overly psyched to play interim adjutant for Jimmy.

A job she missed more than she would ever admit.

Catherine placed a light hand on Fiona's arm. "You go see him. It's been too long since youse were last together, the last thing you'll want is a third wheel."

Fiona took a deep breath, trying to bring solace to her jittery nerves. As much of a disdain she had for Catherine, knowing she'd have the younger woman with her in Chibs' room as a buffer was the one thing keeping her relatively calm. Catherine was right; it had been far too long since she last saw her estranged husband, and that was exactly why she didn't want to face him alone.

"I dunno..."

"You're the first one he asked about," blurted Catherine. "Whenever one of us reaches out, or when I'd come for business, the first thing he always wanted to know was how you and Kerri were doin'. It'll shock him to see you, but trust me, he'll be happy you came all this way."

"Ya think?"

"Aye; he still loves you, Auntie Fi."

_Auntie Fi _

Fiona took another sharp breath, the pressure of tears stinging her eyes. It had to have been nearly fifteen years since she heard Catherine last call her that. Catherine had dropped the 'auntie' title when Chibs left Belfast. Not knowing the truth, she had always blamed Fiona. She wondered what caused the sudden change of heart.

Exhaling with a groan, Fiona ran her hands down the front of her blouse. "Do I look okay? I feel like I packed way too casual."

Catherine softly chuckled, unsure if she'd ever seen Fiona so flustered. It was wholesome and sweet reminding Catherine of how she fussed over her hair, makeup, and clothes when she started dating Dessie. She couldn't even begin to imagine how much more exasperated the feeling was for Fiona.

"You're a bleedin' stunner. It's like you haven't aged a day since he left."

Fiona rolled her eyes knowing full well Catherine was only blowing smoke up her ass. "He gives you any trouble, you give me a bell."

Catherine told her she would, even though Fiona would be the last person she'd call in a pinch.

It was nothing personal. Catherine just preferred not to seek help from someone who referred to her as a prostitute.

And a tart.

A harlot.

Whore.

On second thought, Catherine realized, maybe it was a little personal after all.


	86. Tits Up

Jimmy opened the back door of the SUV, and Catherine gingerly climbed out as to not wrinkle her new dress. The cobalt blue material hugged every delicious curve of her body, turning Jimmy into a walking contradiction. He loved the way the deep hue made her copper curls and blue eyes pop, though he'd lost count of how many times he nearly socked Luke for having wandering eyes. His gaze followed her hand as she smoothed out the non-existent creases, his heart pounding when he noticed the glittering diamond she for some reasons unbeknownst to him, wore around her finger.

Looking around at the rows of multi-million dollar homes on the block, Catherine tried to figure out what kind of criminal kingpin could fit so nicely into the uppity neighborhood. It made her feel uneasy, seeing how this potential buyer had no problem flaunting their illicit wealth. Catherine was used to a different class of criminal, and Jimmy could sense her apprehension.

In Irish, he told her to relax. But Catherine was the kind of woman who couldn't help feeling even more on edge when told to chill out.

"These are the kinda fellas who'll turn on ya in a heartbeat if they get picked up," she said.

Jimmy couldn't disagree with her. This far into a life of delinquency, he liked to think he had a decent gauge on who the squealers were. Based on his past conversations with the potential Italian associate, he had a good feeling.

"Just trust me, yeah? Have you ever seen me shake on a bad deal?"

Popping the clasp of her clutch, Catherine reached inside for her compact and lipstick. Shoving the clutched into Jimmy's hand, she opened the compact and stated applying the classic red shade. "No, but I have seen ya waste your time on eejits. They're mafiosos, Jimmy. Ya tried workin' out a decent deal with the plastic Paddys from Boston and Chicago, but they've no idea what makin' a deal with us means. I'm tellin' ya, this isn't gonna be any bloody different. Don't you agree, Luke?"

The pudgy Irishman's gaze ping-ponged between Catherine and Jimmy. It was awkward being dragged into the conversation, not wanting to upset Jimmy or make Catherine feel her reservations weren't valid. As a senior officer who accompanied Jimmy to Boston and Chicago many a time, he found himself agreeing with her.

Deciding it would be best for everyone if he just stayed out it, Luke admitted, "I don't like it when Mummy and Daddy row, so why don't youse just drop it."

Jimmy rolled his eyes, shoved the clutch back to Catherine when she finished with her lipstick. "They're La Cosa Nostra, not _plastic Paddys_. The Italians are nothin' like the blokes we've tried dealin' with the past. Trust me, a chuisle."

Tucking the small bag under her arm, Catherine shifted her weight. She was in a new, cheap department store dress and pumps that pinched her feet like hell. Closing a deal that would end up putting hundreds of thousands of pounds into hers and Dessie's pockets was the only thing that would make the money she dropped shopping worth it.

"Okay," she relented. "I trust you." Hooking arms with Jimmy, the trio walked up the long driveway. "Who's the lad? You haven't told me yet."

"Jimmy Cacuzza - head of the Cacuzza crime family. They make their money off the usual: movin' counterfeit shite, stealin' shipments meant to go to retailers, labor union extortion. And as I've recently discovered, they've moved into the small arms business, buyin' a wee stock from Samcro, so I figured—"

Catherine interjected before they reached the doorstep. "Ya figured why not convince him to cut out of the wee middle-man and get their supply straight from the source."

"Aye," he kissed her forehead, "remember, tits up, O'Toole."

As Jimmy unhooked his arm from Catherine's to ring the doorbell, Catherine readjusted her pushup bra to enhance her already enticing cleavage.

Luke shook his head, always hating being the third wheel when the two of them were together.

It was an unusual welcoming when Jimmy Cacuzza opened the heavy front door to greet them. After stepping inside, Catherine and Luke exchanged a look of _what the fuck? _when both Jimmys went in for the handshake-hug combo like they've known each other for years.

She had a feeling Jimmy was far more acquainted with Cacuzza than he originally led her to believe. If her intuition on Jimmy was right, she guessed he's known about Cacuzza buying guns from Clay for some time now.

Nor was this the first time he's reached out either. They seemed far too comfortable with one another. If this were the first meeting, Jimmy wouldn't be so seemingly relaxed and he never would have agreed to a house call.

As the two men struck up the usual small talk on news and weather, Catherine's attention was caught by movement in the spacious kitchen. She looked over Cacuzza's shoulder, almost losing her composure at what she saw.

Puttering around, preparing a meat, cheese, and olive board, was who Catherine presumed to be the wife, based off the massive canary diamond on her bony finger.

Now the last minute shopping trip made sense. Jimmy didn't want her in jeans, Dr. Martens, and flannel button-down because she wasn't there to turn on the charm. Jimmy brought her as his arm-candy to reel Cacuzza in.

What better way to build stronger rapport than a mutual fondness of firearms and young, beautiful women?

He pulled the exact farce seven years ago when he brought her to Malta to meet with Sean Rourke, underboss of Boston's most prominent Irish-American crime family. Instead of negotiating a deal on M16 rifles, Catherine had been forced to play the role of the docile mistress and endure hours of brain-melting conversation with Rourke's side piece.

It happened previously in Moscow when Catherine introduced Jimmy to Misha. And then when she connected the Russian arms dealer with Dessie, she was cast aside again.

She did all the leg work, just to be told to go off and sit pretty.

Not this time.

She had once been the True army's chief of staff and now sat on the council of ONH for fuck's sake.

She more than earned the right to be at the negotiating table.

"And who would this beautiful woman be?" asked Cacuzza.

His gaze traveled up and down her figure, soaking in all of Catherine's attributes. He couldn't deny she was strikingly attractive, though the Irish, ivory-toned redhead wasn't his preference.

Catherine would've been insulted by Cacuzza's blatant staring if it hadn't been for Jimmy placing his hand on her ass. All she could focus on was how his fingers were kneading her flesh.

Slightly embarrassed for not introducing her sooner, Jimmy pulled Catherine into him. "This is my w-"

Realizing Jimmy was about to introduce her as _his _wife, she acted fast. Breaking out of Jimmy's hold, she quickly extended her hand to Cacuzza, offering a firm handshake that said, "this is purely business."

"Catherine Dennehy; I'm senior finance officer for Óglaigh na hÉireann." It was a ballsy move to separate herself from the True army, though now feeling spiteful over Jimmy's hidden agenda, she wanted to make sure ONH's interests were being protected. "We're the supplier to the True IRA. It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Cacuzza, and thank you for taking the time to meet with us."

Catherine swore she felt the last ounces of Jimmy's soul leaving his body as she spoke those last words. She was completely undermining him - she came under the agreement that she'd not bring up her involvement in - let alone the existence of - ONH.

Oops.

A flirtatious smile spread across Cacuzza's face as he turned over Catherine's hand, kissing the back of it. Not wanting to be rude, Catherine didn't pull her hand back right away.

"If I had known Jimmy was bringing you all this way from Belfast, I would've agreed to meet sooner. It's a beautiful day, let's enjoy it while we talk inventory and numbers."

Conjuring her most kittenish smile, Catherine started following Cacuzza through the foyer. Behind her, Jimmy motioned for Luke to go ahead of them, before he gripped Catherine's bicep to stop from walking any further.

"Ow, what the hell-"

"What the fuck was that?" he lowly hissed, spinning her around. "We had an agreement that you'd keep ONH outta this. The whole point of this meetin' is to get him to drop the middle-man; how am I supposed to that when you've just outed me as one?"

Prying Jimmy's bitting fingers from her arm, Catherine fluffed her curls. "That agreement was invalidated as soon as I figured out your wee scheme, Jimmy. You're not makin' a deal unless it's worth _our _interest."

Jimmy pursed his lips. There was nothing he could say in his defense. If he were in Catherine's position, he would have done the same thing.

"Do you love Dessie?"

"W-what?" stammered Catherine. "Of course I love Dessie."

"Brilliant. Because if you fuck this up for me, a chuisle," he brought his mouth a hair's breadth from her ear, "I will wage a bloody war against youse, and make you watch as I slit his goddamn throat from ear to ear."

He already made her watch as he slashed Dessie's face, this was a warning worth heeding. Catherine tried to hide the fear in her eyes but failed miserably. In an attempt to talk him down from the ledge, she promised Jimmy she wouldn't screw up this up for him and reminded him that getting Cacuzza on board would be good for both the True army and ONH.

Without another word, Jimmy headed to catch up with Cacuzza and Luke.

Taking a deep breath, Catherine mentally slapped herself, wishing she had never opened her mouth in the first place.

* * *

To say time got away from them was an understatement.

It was early evening by the time Jimmy, Catherine, and Luke were on their way out of Cacuzza's. They were gathered in the foyer, with Cacuzza's wife, Giulia, trying to force leftover cannolis into Catherine's hands. With a belly full of homemade pasta, meatballs, and pastries, and her head swimming in wine, she graciously accepted the treats with plans to eat them later while submerged in a hot bubble bath.

Giulia tightly embraced Catherine in a hug, kissing both her cheeks before moving on to Jimmy and Luke. A smirk tugging on the corners of Cacuzza's mouth, he went in for a hug goodbye, too.

"Let me know when you get back to Belfast," he pecked her cheek, "and we'll set up a time to get you and Dessie on the phone to hammer out the final details."

Catherine's heart nearly exploded from a combination of excitement and nerves. She and Jimmy had knocked the meeting out of the park; now the fate of their deal rested solely on Dessie's shoulders. The hard part would be convincing her husband; it wouldn't be as easy of a sell as it had been to the mafioso.

"Of course. I'll get in touch with Cameron and Edmond to set somethin' up so you can see the stock of Kalashnikovs we export from Dublin."

"Let's try to do it while you're still Stateside. There's something very alluring about a gorgeous woman handling a high-power rifle."

Catherine cocked her eyebrows and smirked. "My _husband _says the same thing, Mr. Cacuzza."

"He's a lucky man."

"Aye," she chuckled. "I remind him of that every day."

After their final goodbyes, the Irish trio headed out.

Halfway to the SUV, Catherine linked her arm with Jimmy's. Her feet were killing her more than the pounding from her red wine-induced headache. "I've gotta get these wee feckers off."

Leaning on Jimmy for balance, Catherine took off the pumps. Wearing them all day before having the chance to break them in was the worst idea Catherine had in a long time. The backs of her ankles were rubbed raw with throbbing open sores, and her pinky toes each bore a blister. Not to mention her calves were on fire from the five-mile run she just had to go on earlier in the morning.

"Mother'a Christ," Jimmy huffed getting a good look at Catherine's battered feet. He took the pumps from her hand. "Why the hell would ya do that to yourself?"

"My Ma always told me beauty is pain. Even you can't deny how bloody amazing my legs look when I'm propped up in those torture devices."

Jimmy shook his head, unable to wrap his mind around the ass-backward thinking Catherine approached fashion with.

They were silent as they approached the SUV. Luke was already inside, buckled in with the engine roaring. But before Jimmy opened the back door so Catherine could climb in, he handed back her shoes so he could light a much-needed cigarette. Taking a drag, he passed it to her.

"How do you think it went in there?"

"Is that a serious question?" she patronized, blowing out a cloud of smoke.

Taking it from her fingers, he tucked it into the corner of his mouth and unbuttoned the first two buttons on his shirt. "Don't be givin' me lip. Yeah, it's a serious question."

"I think it went well." Catherine plucked the cigarette from his mouth, taking another drag before putting it back. "However, I can't help feelin' as though he's stringin' us along. I don't see him breaking loyalties with Clay."

"Aye; I don't see that happening either." Flicking the cigarette into the street, Jimmy scrubbed his face with his hands. "What the fuck are we gonna do?"

"Hey," crooned Catherine. She placed a hand on the side of his neck, stroking his jaw with her thumb. It was impossible to miss the anxiety clouding his pale blue eyes like a raging storm. Putting together an entirely new faction of distributors and buyers was starting to overwhelm him. When Jimmy was stressed and overwhelmed, that meant bad news for everyone as his coping mechanism entailed nothing more than lashing out in hostilities. "I know it's way easier said than done, but you gotta take a breath and try not to worry too much. It'll all come together like it's supposed to."

"I hope to God you're right."

Catherine hoped she was, too. She couldn't go back to Crossmaglen empty-handed. If they didn't find a new buyer while she was there, she'd have no choice but to tell Dessie about Cameron and Edmond when she got home.

Jimmy looked at his watch. "It's almost six and we've an hour's drive at least back to Sacramento. I dunno if you'll make it Charming in time to see Filip before visitin' hours are over."

Her heart sank into her belly. The whole point of this trip had been to see her uncle, not help Jimmy save his ass from the wrath of the Kings if he lost yet another supply of the highly sought Russian commodities.

"That's okay," she lied. Jimmy could hear the disappointment in her voice. "I'll see him tomorrow. I've a wee feelin' that seeing Fiona is probably all the excitement he can handle in one day."

Kissing her forehead, Jimmy then opened the door so Catherine could get into the backseat. Once she was settled, he closed it, conveniently forgetting to tell her that she'd be going with him, and the lads from Fermanagh and Oakland to collect an order of M16s at dawn.

She'd see Chibs whenever _he _saw fit.

* * *

"Ya mind the company?"

Glancing to his left, Jimmy saw Catherine in the archway of the living room. A soft smile spread across his lips. She looked impossibly adorable in a pair of blush pink cotton shorts and a loose white v-neck. Her hair was tightly French-braided into pigtails; of course, there was a glass of wine in her hand. Taking off his reading glasses, Jimmy patted the empty spot beside him.

Strutting over, Catherine sat with her legs tucked underneath her. She rested her head on his arm, taking a sip of wine.

"Can't sleep?" he asked, turning down the volume on the television.

"Aye." She left it at that, unable to bring it upon herself to say her bout of insomnia was Filip and Dessie induced. Glancing down at the piece of paper Jimmy was holding, she tried deciphering his notes. "What are ya workin' on?"

Slipping his glasses back on, Jimmy stared blankly at his handwriting. "The lads I met with in Chicago last week - they're offering decent hardware that I could desperately use, but I don't think I can swing it since you and Dessie stole the cigarette operation right out from under me."

Catherine's cheeks burned with shame. She knew the jab was intentional. He wanted her to feel worse than she already does. Reaching over Jimmy, she set her glass down on the end table beside his scotch before snatching the paper from his hands. She swung her legs out from under her so they were resting across his lap. Gnawing on her thumbnail, she looked at the numbers. If she couldn't give him back his largest source of income to buy materials with, the least she could do is offer her professional advice.

"Let's see what you can shuffle around."

"I appreciate your willingness to help," Jimmy said, snatching the paper back, "but I don't take business guidance from those who've double-crossed me."

"Ouch. Don't you think that's a bit harsh to say?"

Taking off his glasses again, he set them and his notes on the table. "I'm sorry, does the truth hurt?" Picking up her wine, he drank half of it despite Catherine's protest. "I dunno how you drink this cheap merlot. Cabernet Sauvignon is what ya should be drinkin' if you want a good red."

Thankful Jimmy diverted the conversation before it became awkward and uncomfortable for the both of them, Catherine pointed her pinky finger in the air. "I didn't know I was in the presence of a wine connoisseur."

"I'm the furthest thing from a wine connoisseur. My expertise lies in scotch, thank you very much."

Catherine furrowed her brow. "Ya sure about that? When you were in Maghaberry, I found the bottle you stashed in your desk and it was fuckin' rough."

"It was rough because you don't how to appreciate a quality single-malt." He exchanged her wine for his scotch, passing it to her. "Try this. It's a lot smoother than what's in my desk drawer."

Catherine took the glass from him, tossing back the sip that was left. The harsh booze instantly irritated her throat. Jimmy fought the urge not to laugh, but that was a battle lost when she broke out into a coughing fit. Catherine shoved the glass into his hands, grabbing the pack of cigarettes off the coffee table and lighting up.

"That's your first mistake, a chuisle. You don't just knock it back like it's a shot of Bushmills. You sip it; enjoy the flavors."

"Believe me," she said, trying to ignore the nauseating burn in her belly, "I'm not drinkin' that shite for taste, I drink because I wanna forget how crappy things've been."

Jimmy was caught off guard by her brazen confession. If her home life wasn't weighing her down, she never would have made such a remark. Propping his feet up on the table, Jimmy took Catherine's free hand. Much to his surprise, she started playing with his fingers.

"Be honest with me, Catherine. Is Dessie helping out with the boys?"

Catherine felt like he was backing her into a corner. If he didn't have inside information, he wouldn't have phrased the question the way he did. There was no use in lying, but she didn't exactly want to tell him the truth either.

"He's doing what he can."

Jimmy snickered, "So he's spending the majority of his time working and playing video games."

"That's not fair," she scolded, dropping his hand. "Between managing the legitimate businesses and stayin' on top of responsibilities for the Ra, you work just as much as he does."

For reasons he couldn't quite explain, Jimmy was rubbed the wrong way by what she said.

"Unlike him, my work is all I have. When I go home at night, I don't have wee ones or a wife waitin' for me. Leaving you with all the responsibilities at home when you're devoting just as much time as he is to the cause isn't fair. You need to set him straight."

Catherine gestured for the wine and Jimmy handed it to her. She took a long sip, melting like butter at his fingers stroking the length of her soft, silken leg. She digested his words, trying to come up with an excuse for how lousy and alone Dessie was making her feel.

"This is what works for us - this is our arrangement. He puts in the extra hours at the garage so I can be home with the boys. That means the cooking, cleaning, laundry, disciplining...that all falls under my jurisdiction."

Putting his knee-jerk emotions aside for just a moment, Jimmy felt genuinely sorry for Catherine. She'd been a single mother for nearly five years, then unexpectedly had a baby with a man who said he wanted a family, but struggled all his life to accept the obligations of fatherhood. Neither of them knew what a meaningful partnership was supposed to be.

"Just because he works more hours at the garage doesn't mean he gets a pass to be an absent father and husband."

"He's not absent," she was quick to defend. "He's - he's tired. And burnt out. So if he wants to plop down in front of the telly and play Call of Duty or spend a few hours at the pub after work, I'm not gonna stop him."

Jimmy cupped her jaw. The tip of his thumb traced her lower lip. "He doesn't deserve you."

Catherine shook her head. "These days it feels like I don't deserve him."

Jimmy couldn't believe something so idiotic left Catherine's mouth. Hearing her say she was the one who didn't deserve the likes of Dessie Dennehy only reinforced his axiom that she was beyond exhausted.

"What in the hell would possess you to think that?"

She shrugged. "I'm still adjusting to having a newborn again, ya know? The expected stress of Danny on top of Eamonn and Sean is wearing me out more than I thought it would. More times than not, I'm passed out on the couch before Dessie even gets home. And since he's got the sex drive of a bloody teenage boy, I'm worried. Being Stateside is the calmest I've been since we brought Danny home, because I know he's too busy takin' care of the boys." She rambled, "I mean, I know I have nothin' to be worried about with Dessie, but - I never told anyone, but Darragh strayedwhen I was like eight-months pregnant with Sean. I guess I'm just livin' in the past."

Realizing what Catherine was saying, Jimmy took the forgotten cigarette lazily clenched between her fingers and took a drag. Stubbing it out in the ashtray, he gazed at her. The thin shred of guilt he carried for the last five years over being the one who tipped off the UVF on where they could find Darragh, vanished. He would've contested to Simon Townsend's assassination a lot sooner if he had known Darragh cheated on a heavily pregnant Catherine.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me he screwed around? You know I would have had it taken care of!" His tone was a lot harsher than he intended it to be.

"I couldn't tell you! After you threatened to have me kneecapped and then told Darragh what happened between us on the trip to Newry, we didn't say a single word to each other for two-bloody-years!" Catherine took a breath. "Besides, what he did was karma for what we did."

Listening to Catherine use their sexual past as a reason to defend Darragh's transgression bothered him more than it should.

Bitterly, he spat, "Are you gonna defend Dessie fucking around on you, too? Jesus Christ, Catherine, when did you turn into such a wee pussy?"

"Oh, go fuck yourself."

Having enough of him and the conversation, Catherine darted up from the couch and started walking away. Before she had a chance to leave the living room, he blurted,

"Dessie - he's havin' an affair."

Stopping mid-stride, Catherine spun around. Crossing her arms along her chest, she couldn't wait to hear what evidence he had to back up such a bold accusation.

"What makes you so sure of that?"

Leaning forward, Jimmy rested his forearms on his knees. Despite her cool demeanor on the outside, her darkened eyes gave away the storm of anxiety raging deep within. He'd be lying if he said it didn't bring him great satisfaction to be the one to break the news to her. Maybe then she'd take off the fucking diamond ring that taunted him nearly every hour of the day.

"Donny told me he saw Dessie with a blonde lass at a pub in Newry. Had his hands all over her and his tongue down her throat. They ended up leaving together, I guess."

Catherine bit her bottom lip, forcing her gaze away from Jimmy as she tried not to laugh. She had a feeling this conversation was bound to come up sooner or later. Though she was surprised it had taken Jimmy this long to something. More than once she had warned Dessie people would talk, but he was adamant he didn't care.

"Donny's a fool." Catherine covered her face with her hands to hide the fierce blushing. This was the last thing she wanted to get into, however, she couldn't have people - especially Jimmy - thinking her marriage was on the rocks. "The blonde...that was me, Jimmy."

"Excuse me?"

"Dessie and me - we...we like to role-play."

Catherine swore she watched Jimmy blackout for a split second. His brain couldn't comprehend _his_ Catherine Mary swooping down to Dessie's smutty level.

"_...the sex I'm havin' with Dessie is the best I've had,_" he remembered her telling him at Christmas.

His heart pounded. His hands shook.

Standing, Jimmy closed the distance between them. When he spoke, his words were laced with vicious jealousy. The covetousness consumed him more than it ever had in the past. "What the fuck do you mean?"

"Ya know, role-playing. It keeps things spicy. Some nights I'll put on a wig and he'll pick up a _stranger _at the pub. I love it when he'll be the handyman and I'm the broke housewife who can only pay him in sexual favors. And then there's his so original personal favorite of me bein' the naughty schoolgirl and he's the headmaster."

Jimmy cracked. He couldn't believe the sweet, pure virginal girl he once had in his bed turned into such a harlot. Naturally, he blamed Dessie, for there was no other way to explain why she'd agree to such...nonsense.

Jimmy liked to consider himself a devout Catholic and the years of listening attentively to the nuns during his time in Catholic education only ended up hindering his sexual repertoire. There were four moves in his toolbelt at best; role-playing was the last thing he'd ever think to partake in.

Unwarranted images of Catherine costumed in her St. Dominic's uniform, bent over Dessie's knee as he spanked her bare ass raw was too much for him to handle. Tenaciously clenching his jaw, Jimmy exploded with anger.

"Fiona was fuckin' right about you! You are a goddamn whore," he snarled.

It took every ounce of self-control Catherine could muster to not punch Jimmy right in the mouth. Those were rich words coming from a man like him. One who seemingly had no issues bedding her when she was still only a teenager. She laughed at his irreverent holier than thou attitude.

"Where the fuck do you get off callin' me a whore, huh? Just because I have an active, healthy sex life with my husband, doesn't make me Mary-bloody-Magdalene." Catherine was smart enough to understand his anger was working in tandem with deep-seated insecurity. She had felt it too when he refused to leave Fiona for her.

"Does it make you jealous, Jimmy?" she taunted. "Does it utterly destroy you to know that it's another man who fulfills every single want and desire I have, and not you?"

Raking his fingers through his hair, Jimmy wanted to rip it out by the roots. More scathing depictions of her and Dessie together jested his imagination.

"I fulfilled you. I was enough; all that you needed!"

When her fury should have mirrored his, Catherine stayed calm. She refused to allow him to provoke her; there was nothing to be angry about. His reaction did nothing but fill her with pity. It was a pathetic sight, seeing just how insecure he really was.

"If you were enough, I wouldn't be with Dessie. Think about this, too...if you weren't so boring, I never would have shagged Happy. You lost the best thing you ever had. And now, while I'm screamin' for Jesus, bein' filled with a fat cock and a finger up the arse, all you're gettin' is a sad blowie from Siobhan Kavanaugh."

_If you weren't so boring. _

Those words rang louder and louder in Jimmy's ears.

He took a step forward Catherine. She flinched, preparing herself to feel the stinging torment of a punch.

Instead, he bent down slightly and gripped her hips, tossing Catherine over his shoulder.

He'd show her just how boring Jimmy O'Phelan could be.


	87. Sláinte

Catherine tuned out the commotion of the bustling hospital as she stepped into the elevator. She pressed the button for the fourth floor and the doors closed, where she then half-collapsed against the wall still coming down from the high of transporting half a dozen crates filled with automatic rifle parts to the Oakland port where they'd be shipped to Belfast.

Being thrown back into the fast and loose game of illicit arms dealing scared Catherine. It wasn't the possibility of being caught and then spending a handful of decades behind bars that left her stomach in knots. What left her panic-stricken before, during, and after was how exhilarated the clandestine process made her feel.

It truly was a high that no drug known to man could ever possibly replicate. The entire time, her head swam and her hands shook. The signs and symptoms could have easily been misconstrued for a preemptive anxiety attack, but Jimmy had noticed the way her pupils dilated to the size of dinner plates, and strangely enough, she was outwardly collected.

She missed it. She wanted back in.

And Jimmy knew it, too.

The reality of her trip felt like a thousand-pound weight on her chest when the elevator doors opened, and a seemingly exhausted doctor stepped in. A knot strangled her throat as she noticed the bright bloodstains splotching the doctor's pale green scrubs. It made her wonder if that's how the trauma team had looked after they managed to stabilize Chibs in the emergency room.

Earlier, Fiona warned her about what to expect walking into his Chibs' ICU room. Though, hearing the words _car bomb _ringing deafeningly in her ears didn't stop her imagination from filling with the gory memories of her childhood.

Catherine squeezed her eyes shut, hoping that would force the images out of her head. Bile scorched the back of her throat as the violent reminders refused to leave her alone.

At the shrill ping of the elevator stopping on the fourth floor, Catherine was nowhere near reality. When the doors slid open, it wasn't the quiet Intensive Care Unit of St. Thomas she saw. Suddenly, she was in the thick of mass chaos at the Royal Victoria.

She couldn't breathe as the hand of the past wrapped its taut claws around her neck. Bolting out of the elevator, Catherine managed to pull herself together enough to find the nearest bathroom.

Despite numb hands that were shaking out of control, she locked the door. Turning around, she came face to face with the mirror, but it wasn't her reflection staring back. She saw her nine-year-old self, with a face bloodied from shrapnel and her black dress torn. Reaching up, Catherine touched the same spot on her cheek where the girl in the mirror was bleeding from. She didn't feel the soft, puffy tissue of the deep scar - her fingers became wet. Pulling them away, she looked down to see they were sanguine.

Heaving, Catherine barely made it to the toilet before she retched. Her empty stomach excruciatingly twisted as she tasted the bitterness of bile and sour acid. She regretted her decision not to eat breakfast that morning.

When she was sure there was nothing left to come up, she fell off her knees to sit and flushed the toilet. After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Catherine rested her head against the wall.

Suddenly she understood Jimmy and Patrick's attachment to the drink, and Dessie's increasing dependence on pills, which he rabidly insisted was for an old injury from a motorbike accident.

Reaching into her back pocket, Catherine grabbed her phone. Running a hand through her hair to push the curls out of her face, she scrolled through her contacts until she found the name she was looking for.

Her hands were still shaky as she pressed the phone to her ear. It rang and rang until finally, the line picked up.

"How's it goin' sweetheart?"

Hearing his upbeat voice brought Catherine to tears. She didn't realize just how homesick she was. "I don't think I can see him, Da. After what happened to Dessie, I don't wanna see Filip the same way."

"Oh, Catherine." From his couch in Belfast, Patrick was left unnerved by her thick tone. He could hear her sniffling, breaking his heart that he couldn't be there to wipe away her tears. "Where are you?"

"At St. Thomas; in the bathroom," she chuckled, self-deprecatingly. "I dunno what to do."

Catherine heard him sigh, a telltale sign he was about to give it to her straight. She knew she could count on him to never sugar-coat anything, and his honesty was the kick in the ass she needed right about now.

"Look, I know it's tough, but you're an O'Toole - don't you ever forget that. And that means you're gonna do what you and I have always done: find your bollocks and pick yourself up. Ya hear me?"

"Aye. I hear ya," she said, playing with the frayed lace of her boot.

"Brilliant," he breathed. There was a long pause before he managed to force out the three words which were hard for him to say. "Love you, kid."

For a split moment, Catherine took the phone off her ear so Patrick would hear her roughly swallowing another round of tears. In thirty years, she could count on one hand how many times he's told her that.

Putting the phone back to her ear, she smiled. "I love you, too, Da. When you see 'em, tell my boys I'll be home soon, and give 'em a hug and kiss for me."

Before ending the call, Patrick promised Catherine he would.

Armed with a newfound sense of confidence, Catherine got up. At the sink, she washed her hands and rinsed out her mouth. As she dried her face of water droplets with a paper towel, Catherine looked into the mirror and said,

"Well, you heard the old man. Find your bollocks and get your arse in there."

* * *

"Stahl came to talk to me while we were locked up in county," Jax lowly confessed. "She showed me photos of Cameron and Edmond with Zoebelle's crew. We don't have access to the Irish stock anymore."

Chibs took a shallow breath, trying to wrap his head around everything that's happened in the last week, while he's been stuck inside the walls of St. Thomas. A wave of dread swallowed him whole, nearly drowning him in the process.

"Are you takin' the piss?" he pressed. Apprehensively, Jax shook his head. "Shite. When Jimmy finds out, there's no way of tellin' what the bastard'll do."

"Leave it to me to worry about Jimmy. Clay wants to make an unannounced appearance at the safe house later, see what's going on." Jax averted his gaze from his battered brother, hating to be the one who had to ask the question Clay was pushing. "I know it's shit timing to bring it up, but do you think you can reach out to Catherine? Maybe if she broke the news to Jimmy, it'll soften the blow, or worst-comes-to-worst, she'll straight up tell you if-"

Chibs cut him off, "I love my niece to death, but she worships the ground Saint Jimmy walks on. If I reach out, she'll never rat him if she knows he's behind this. And if he isn't, she'll never tell him because it'll kick up a shitstorm no one is prepared for. She's got the wee boys to protect."

It was far from the answer Jax wanted to hear. His perception of the IRA woman swiftly changed, disappointed she didn't believe that blood was thicker than water. But he understood, now realizing world views could change in the blink of an eye when children were at the forefront.

"We'll take care of it, you just focus on getting yourself better."

"There's a chance she's Stateside. Yesterday, Fiona came to see me."

"Is Jimmy here, too?"

"He has to be," Chibs said. "I don't think he'd let Fiona come by herself, but he'd never let Catherine come without him."

"He's let her travel here on her own before. What would make this any different?"

"Those were trips sanctioned by the army council. Jimmy doesn't have a say if he comes or not. The last time she and I met for a wee chat that he wasn't present for, she came to me all bruised and sliced up. She wouldn't tell me if it was him, but Liam told me he's knocked her around a few times. Jimmy has secrets to protect; he'd never let her come see me without bein' here to run interference. If you find her, you'll find him."

"I'll take a ride out to Oakland and Galt, maybe Lodi, see if I can scope out a busty redhead."

Chibs' face hardened while Jax bit his tongue to silence the threatening laughter. "Watch yourself, Jackie-boy. Don't think I won't beat your arse just because your oul' lady's got me damn near chained to this bed."

"Relax. She's not my type anyway."

"Bullshit. As long as she's got a pulse and a wee hole you can stick it in, she's your type."

"Fair enough." Jax shrugged.

He couldn't argue with that.

* * *

A polite nurse at the nurses' station directed Catherine towards Chibs' room. Holding Patrick's words of wisdom close to her heart, she scuffled down the hall. Reaching his door, Catherine had just put her hand on the handle, when an arm darted out blocking her entrance.

"You can't go in there."

Filled with a bubbling rage, Catherine took a step back and stared down the man who thought he could stop her. He was young - far younger than her - with curly blonde hair, wearing a bare leather kutte.

"Who the fuck are you?" she demanded.

Caught off guard by the hostility in her voice, he stammered, "I'm Half-Sa-I'm Kip." He quickly spun around to show her the patch along the hem of his kutte. "I'm a prospect. Jax is in there with Chibs, so you should come back later."

After finally getting Jimmy to agree to let her see Chibs, on top of overcoming the unexpected emotional obstacle, Catherine wasn't about to be ordered around by someone she could snap like a twig.

Half-Sack's attempt to bar Catherine from Chibs' room proved fruitless as she pushed her way through.

"Jax, I tried to stop her," was all the two men heard, before ceasing their hushed conversation.

They were stunned to hear the familiar female voice laced heavily with a Belfast burr.

By the way Chibs' had to pick his jaw up off his chest, Catherine safely guessed Fiona hadn't told him that she too made the Stateside trip.

Jax turned his attention back to Chibs. "I found her."

"'Bout ye, Jackson?" greeted Catherine.

"Doing pretty good, darlin'. You?"

She slipped her hands into the front pockets of her jeans, sucking her teeth and looking around the small sterile space. "I've had better days."

There was far more tension between the four of them than when Chibs woke up the day before to find Fiona sitting bedside.

Wanting to give the pair some time alone, Jax said his goodbyes to Chibs first, before offering a friendly hug to Catherine. Once he and the prospect were gone, Catherine pulled up a chair to the bed.

"How are ya feelin'?" she asked, rearranging the IV tubes, and wires to take his hand. "I've been worried sick about ya. As soon as I caught wind of the news, I was on the first flight out."

Chibs swept copper tresses behind her shoulder so they were out of her face. He wished there was brighter lighting in his room, wanting to see if the big blue eyes were sparkling as he remembered.

"I'm fine; don't want you to worry. It'll take a lot more than some fertilizer to take me down."

Holding his hand felt surreal for Catherine. It had been just under a year since she last saw him, and she felt terrible for leaving California when their last conversation entailed her calling him a coward for leaving Belfast. She had written him a letter where she profusely apologized and asked Happy to hand-deliver it to him. Considering Chibs made no mention of it, despite the couple of times he reached out to her on business matters, she feared he'd never forgive her for the spiteful words.

"I'm so sorry for what I said the last time I was here. I swear I didn't mean it, I don't think you're a coward; you're one of the strongest men I know."

Chibs wiped the freshly fallen tears off her cheek with his thumb. He'd forgiven her before she even left for Belfast, his heart shredded knowing he should be the one apologizing to her instead. What else could he expect her to say, when she was filled with such bitterness over him having left without so much as a goodbye. After all of these years, he was still trying to make peace with his decision to run so far from home.

"It's water under the bridge. No use in wastin' your tears over me."

Catherine kissed his knuckles. "If this is your way of sayin' my tears aren't worth it, you're bloody wrong. You're worth every single one of 'em."

Gently easing his hand out of hers, Chibs placed a finger under her chin, tilting her head up. Looking at her soft features, he tried to figure out how a woman like her ended up so involved in a merciless criminal empire. Unlike him, she never partook in petty crime or ran errands for the Provos when she was a young girl. There'd been not a single inkling she was following in his footsteps.

Catherine had been a good girl.

Catherine is a good girl.

And there was nothing in this world that could dispute that fact for the adoring uncle. He was no different than her in so many respects. If she was a terrible person, what in the hell did that make him?

Chibs chose to remember Catherine as the opinionated teenager who would debate him at the dinner table about how she believed the Irish Republican Army did more harm than good for Northern Ireland, when little did she know nearly everyone she loved dearly was in the ranks.

Every time Catherine crossed his mind, he felt like such a failure as an uncle. Her life had been derailed; she was supposed to be the one who made a decent life for herself out of Belfast. He knew exactly who pushed the train off the track. Chibs kicked himself every day for not making it clear to Jimmy she was off-limits.

Not that he would have listened anyway.

"My Ma sends her love," said Catherine. "She's sorry she couldn't make it, but you know how the wee idea of gettin' on a plane scares the wits outta her."

Chibs chuckled, "Tell your da to knock the oul' doll out and get her arse on a plane. She'd love it out here."

"Hell would freeze over before that happens." Folding her hands, Catherine twiddled her thumbs, then hesitantly confessed, "There's somethin' I need to tell ya."

Chibs didn't like how that sounded. "You haven't gotten yourself into trouble, have ya?"

That's debatable, she thought.

"I haven't," she assured. "For the first time in a long time, I come bearin' good news. I'm not sure if you've caught word yet, but I still wanted to tell ya myself that I'm...no longer in the True army, and," she lifted her left hand to show off the diamond, "I got married, and had another wee baby."

A million and one emotions flooded Chibs all at once. While news of a marriage and a new baby were always cause for celebration, it was hearing she was no longer involved in the IRA that made him utterly elated. But he wouldn't jump for joy until he had all the facts, on edge that his worst fear was about to come true. The last time they saw each other, she hadn't mentioned any suitors.

"Did Jimmy fuckin' push you out? Please tell me he's not the prick who knocked you up again and put that ring on your wee finger."

"No! A thousand times, no, on all bloody counts! I was offered the position of finance officer on the council for a risin' organization, and I took it. We call ourselves, Óglaigh na hÉireann. As for the bloke who I married and now have another son with...does the name Desmond Dennehy sound familiar?"

"Jesus. Desmond Dennehy? As is wee pain-in-the-arse Dessie from Crossmaglen?"

"The one and only," she smiled.

Chibs took a second to soak in the news, beyond thrilled Eamonn was the only tie she still had to Jimmy. He could tell his lack of outward joy was bringing a small amount of distress to Catherine, thinking he wasn't happy for her. To some extent he was disappointed, having so quickly gotten his hopes up that she was finally done with that world and the men who inhabited it.

"I'm happy for ya, Catherine, I am. Just a bit shocked, I suppose. Never would have pictured youse together. He's a good lad; I hope he's takin' good care'o you and the weans."

"He is. Though, a part of me does wonder if that's only because he's deathly afraid of my Da. The night before we got married, he asked me for a box of rifle rounds and then took Dessie over the border. Dessie came back lookin' as if he'd seen a ghost. Neither of 'em'll fess up to what happened."

Chibs bobbed his head from side-to-side, his eyebrows raised. "That does sound like somethin' the crazy oul' lad would do. I can imagine there's someone who isn't thrilled with this union, and somethin' tells me it ain't Paddy."

Catherine took a sharp breath. She toyed with the identification badge around Chibs' wrist as she tried to decide whether or not to indulge the question. Jimmy wasn't a topic she felt comfortable talking about with him, not wanting to reopen barely healed wounds and inflame hostilities. She did worry that if she avoided the insinuation, then Chibs would think there was still something going on between the former lovers.

"Of course he's not happy. We weren't speakin' at the time, so thankfully he wasn't around to ruin the day for me. And since it is Jimmy we're talkin' about here, he's trying to destroy my marriage at every possible opportunity now that we've kissed and made up."

"I'm surprised Dessie puts up with Jimmy still comin' around."

"He's a brilliant da to Eamonn, which is hard to believe, I know. There are days where I have to remind myself of it." For a fleeting second, Catherine thought about telling Chibs of the plan Jimmy divulged. She didn't want him and the rest of Samcro to be caught with their pants around their ankles when news of the crumbling Sambel came floating across the Atlantic and give them enough time to find another source of weapons. But without knowing the full details herself just yet, telling him wouldn't do any good. "I wish you could meet my wee boys. They'd love you just as much as I do."

"Me, too." Chibs licked his chapped lips, the same shock he felt seeing Fiona now finally settling in over Catherine being at his bedside. "Is he here?"

Very little needed to be elaborated. She didn't want to put the extra stress on Chibs given the circumstances, but then she couldn't bring herself to lie.

"He is. Shouldn't be for much longer, though. He promised he'd be home for Eamonn's first day of school."

How much longer Jimmy would be in town for wasn't what Chibs gave two shits about. With the secret out and the IRA knowing Chibs was confined to the damn bed with no one to bar the door, it left him in a position of too much vulnerability. No one held a grudge quite like the Irish, and Jimmy O'Phelan was no exception. Already held up with a traumatic brain injury, who's to say Jimmy wouldn't send one of his enforces to finish the job; make it look like natural causes.

He also worried about his nephew, who he set up with a decent job as a mechanic at Teller-Morrow and a house on the outskirts of Charming.

Chibs pointed to the marker stuck to the whiteboard hanging on the back of the door. "Grab the marker for me?"

Catherine jumped up to retrieve it and sat back down after handing it to him. Chibs took the napkin off his untouched lunch tray and scribbled down a phone. Capping the marker, he gave the napkin to Catherine.

"Call your brother and warn him."

Catherine gazed at the ink bleeding into the thin paper. Hit with the news Liam hadn't ventured far, her mind blanked, unable to comprehend the numbers.

"If he's still here, why don't you tell him? I already got him out of Norn Iron, and the Kings suspect it was me. If anyone finds out I tipped him off again-"

"And if Jimmy finds out he's here, I'll be makin' the call to my sister with news that her son had his neck squeezed with razor wire. You did the right thing by gettin' him outta there, do the right thing again."

Lifting the sleeve of her light pink plaid shirt, Catherine glanced at her watch. "I should head back before Jimmy sends the brigade out to look for me. I'll be sure to keep in touch before I leave." Standing up, she then leaned down and kissed his cheek.

"Aye. Take care'o yourself, yeah?" He patted her cheek; she nodded. "And call your brother. He'll be thrilled to hear from ya."

After a final goodbye, Catherine gently closed the door to Chibs' room behind her. Walking down the quiet ICU corridor, she clenched the napkin with Liam's phone number tightly in her hand.

She weighed her uncle's words of advice, realizing he was right in that Liam deserved to be warned that Jimmy was lurking too close for comfort. But the way she saw it, she'd already done her part and she paid the price by losing respect from every man who was arrested because of Liam's touting. Just because he was her eldest brother, didn't change the fact he was a rat. She couldn't protect him forever.

Balling up the napkin, she tossed it into the trash can at the nurses' station.

This far from home, Catherine would do anything to keep the last shred of peace between her and Jimmy.

* * *

Weaving through the cars in the lot, Catherine made her way to the very back row where the blacked-out SUV was parked. She shook her head, wondering if the lads understood that a vehicle which was more akin to something an undercover FBI agent would drive, didn't exactly blend in.

When she was close enough to see through the windshield, she saw Jimmy leaned back in the seat, one arm resting behind his head with a baseball cap pulled down low enough to cover his eyes. She quietly snuck up to the partially rolled down window on the driver's side and curled her fingers around the lip of it.

"ATF!" she hollered in the best American accent she could manage. "Get out of the fucking car!"

Jimmy sprang up, turning whiter than a ghost as he threw the baseball cap into the backseat. He swore his heart almost exploded it was beating so fast, then he nearly had a stroke when he saw Catherine dropping to one knee because she was laughing so hard.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ!" He rested his forehead on the steering wheel for a second, trying to catch his breath. Coming down from the high of having been scared half-to-death, Jimmy rolled down the window the rest of the way. "I swear to God I almost pissed myself. Ya know, you're gettin' way too good at talkin' like a yank."

Pleased to see he was being a good sport, Catherine picked herself up off the ground and rounded the SUV so she could jump into the passenger seat.

"Blimey, I thought for sure I was gonna be in Barney Rubble for that one, mate," Catherine said, testing out her East London brogue, which still needed work.

Jimmy gave her the stink eye. "For talkin' like that, I should make ya swim back to Belfast." He lit a cigarette for her and then one for himself. "What the hell took you so long?"

Catherine didn't have it in her to tell Jimmy about her near breakdown in the bathroom. So she lied instead, "Dessie called just as I was about to see him. The boys wanted to say goodnight."

"You didn't take a detour to the toilet to send titty pics, did you?"

"Not that it's any of your business what I do, but as a matter of fact, I didn't."

Jimmy slowly nodded, as if he didn't believe her. She'd rather have him thinking that was why she took forever than the truth. He'd never let her live it down if he knew she'd been crying in the bathroom like a _wee pussy, _as he so eloquently called her last night.

Staring off at the ambulance bay of the emergency room, he blew out a steady stream of smoke.

"How is he? Fiona wouldn't tell me."

"As much as it may disappoint you to hear, he'll be up on his feet in no time."

Tossing the smoke out the window, Jimmy started the engine. "Well, that's a wee shame."

On the I-5 north back to Sacramento, Catherine thought they could use the two hours to talk about something she knew had been bothering them both since last night. Though, striking up a wildly uncomfortable, albeit embarrassing, conversation while Jimmy was going eighty down the highway, probably wasn't her smartest idea to date.

"Can we talk about what happened last night?"

Jimmy stiffened, tightening his grip around the steering wheel. "Nothin' happened that needs to be talked about. So drop it."

He had thought about ignoring her all day, sneaking out early without waking her up to come along with him and the others to get the guns. But if he reneged on his promise to take her to the hospital to see Chibs, then she'd know for sure something was wrong between them when he didn't want there to be.

"Please, Jimmy!" she begged. "There's nothin' to be embarrassed about, it happens all the ti-"

Jimmy pushed his sunglasses onto the top of his head, briefly taking his eyes off the road to look at Catherine. "I said to fuckin' drop it."

Not looking for a fight when she was trapped in a moving vehicle in the middle of nowhere and a foreign country no less, Catherine did just that.

* * *

Fresh from a relaxing bubble bath, Fiona sauntered out of the bedroom to pop the bottle of riesling she's had chilling for most of the day.

Pouring herself a tall glass, she poked her head into the living room when she heard rustling. She was surprised to see it was only Catherine lounging on the couch, expecting Jimmy to be glued to her hip.

"Where's Jimmy?"

Catherine set the book she half-engrossed in on her chest, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "He said he's got a meeting and won't be back until late."

Sighing with relief over the prospect of a relaxing night, she took a few steps into the room.

"_Crime and Punishment_?" Fiona asked, eyeing the book Catherine was reading. "That's some heavy shite."

"Aye, and it's a bleedin' bore, too." She closed it, then tossed it on the table and sat up to make room for Fiona. "But it's one of Dessie's favorites and the sweet fella took the time to highlight excerpts he thought I'd really like so I have to finish it."

Taking a seat on the couch beside Catherine, she put down her glass. Picking up the thick, battered novel, Fiona quickly flipped through the pages. Sure enough, it was filled with iridescent maker and small notes were scribbled along the margins in indisputably male handwriting.

"He likes to read?"

"He loves it, but don't tell him I told you," Catherine chuckled. "Ya know, he was accepted to Queen's to study English. He decided not to go so he could work fulltime to take care of Eilish and his wee daughters. It also doesn't help that he was sucked into the Provos."

Fiona set the book back down and reached for her wine. "Turnin' down the opportunity for higher education because he was sucked into the Provos," she took a sip, "sounds like someone else I know."

Catherine rolled her bottom lip between her fingers, cocking her eyebrows at Fiona. "Dessie and I learned from our mistakes. We agreed to do whatever we have to, to make sure the boys don't follow our footsteps. I want 'em to go to university, but, surprise, surprise, Jimmy's been insisting that Eamonn enlists in the Irish army since before the wee lad even learned to write his goddamn name."

"Don't ya let him push you around when it comes to makin' decisions about Eamonn. That man knows fuck all when it comes to raisin' a child."

Catherine seconded that.

Fiona turned her body to face Catherine. "I know you probably won't give a straight answer, but what in the absolute hell happened between youse last night while I was out?"

Since it happened, Catherine had been dying to talk to someone about it. With hardly any girlfriends to gossip about this kind of shit with, she was left with limited options. However, Fiona was the last person on Earth she wanted to divulge this information to. Though, on the flip side, there was no one else who would find it as amusing as she did.

Deciding she needed to get it off her chest before it ate her alive, there was one thing Catherine needed to get before she could start talking. Both she and Fiona needed alcohol, and tonight, wine simply wouldn't cut it.

Leaving Fiona confused, Catherine got off the couch walking straight into the kitchen to grab Jimmy's bottle of scotch off the top of the fridge.

When Fiona saw her coming back with the bottle and two glasses, she knew shit was about to go down. As curious as she was to find out what had Catherine crying on the front porch at midnight and why Jimmy was on the patio smoking a joint, Fiona couldn't deny that she was elated at the idea of getting drunk with Catherine. Maybe they could finally bond over something - forge the aunt/niece relationship she's always wanted with her. Even if the bonding agent was Jimmy. After all, he was the pain-in-the-ass they had in common.

Pouring them each three fingers of the rich amber liquor, Catherine said, "Before I tell you, you have to promise you won't judge me."

Fiona took the glass Catherine handed her. "I shagged my husband's best mate for a lot of years, Catherine. I'm in no position to be judgin' a lass."

"To terrible life decisions," Catherine said, lifting the glass.

Fiona would drink to that. Clinking her glass with Catherine's, she added, "Sláinte."

The women tossed back the booze, shuttering as it went down hard. After setting the glasses back on the table, Catherine slid on to the floor and lit a cigarette. Feeling rather out of character tonight, Fiona took one from the pack and lit her first smoke in over ten years.

This was a Fiona Catherine liked to see. The last time she remembered Fiona letting loose, Chibs had still been in Belfast.

"So," Catherine started, ashing her cigarette into the ashtray, "Jimmy and I almost shagged last night. We probably would have, but," she broke out laughing, "he couldn't get it up!"


	88. Old Habits Die Hard

Climbing out of the SUV, Jimmy fished a set of keys from the pocket of his trousers. He found the one to unlock the front door, looking forward to a hot shower before falling face-first into bed and knocking out for a few hours until his alarm went off sharply at eight.

Walking into the house, Jimmy was taken back to find nearly every light on, but no sign of either Catherine nor Fiona. Setting the keys on the small table beside the door, he locked the deadbolt as he called out their names. When he got no answer, Jimmy eased the blade out of his pocket, keeping his thumb firmly on the switch. He did a quick sweep of the house.

On the coffee table in the living room, he found a bottle of booze and two half-drunken glasses, an ashtray overflowing with cigarette butts. Catherine's room was empty, as was the one he quasi-shared with Fiona. Both beds were made, all suitcases were accounted for.

The inconvenient nag of nervousness chipped away at him, wondering where in the hell the two could have possibly gone at this hour. A federal raid and them being locked away in some brightly lit room while pompous agents hammered them with questions was the last thing he imagined. What worried him to the core was thinking one of the women finally snapped, taking out the other in a long-overdue burst of jealous rage.

There were no signs of a struggle or blood, which he guessed was a good sign. But he knew Catherine, and he didn't put it passed her to come up with a scheme more diabolical than one he'd ever be able to think of.

As he shuffled into the kitchen, he found something that put his mind somewhat at ease. The vertical blinds which normally covered the sliding backdoor were pushed back, and the lock on the handle was flipped. Opening the door, he went outside. Jimmy was immediately hit with the sickly pungent aroma he couldn't confuse with anything other than marijuana. Besides the vocal crickets singing to their heart's desire, he could hear the faint feminine giggles.

Crossing the length of the patio, he stepped onto the dewy grass and rounded the corner of the house. Sure enough, there they were. Both had their backs turned to him.

Careful not to wake the neighbors, Jimmy lowly hissed, "For fuck's sake."

Startled, Catherine and Fiona spun around, with Catherine quickly hiding her hands behind her back.

"What in God's name are youse don' out here?"

The women exchanged looks as if they were teenagers being caught red-handed doing something they knew they shouldn't be. They tried to keep their faces straight and serious to mirror Jimmy's demeanor, but Fiona broke and started laughing.

"Busted," said Catherine. Smoke wafted out of her mouth as she spoke. Stretching out one of her hidden hands, Jimmy's eyes nearly bugged out of his head when he saw what she had clamped between her thumb and index finger. "I think this belongs to you."

Taking the joint from her, Jimmy held it up. "I cannot believe you crazy bitches went digging through my shite. Whose brilliant idea was this?"

"Mine," they crooned in unison.

Beyond tired, starving, and suffering from such a pounding headache he thought his skull would split at any moment, Jimmy wasn't in the mood to deal with their childish antics.

"Both of youse get in the house. Now."

Catherine and Fiona didn't need to be told twice.

As they passed Jimmy, under her breath Fiona muttered, "Aye aye, limp dick."

Lacking the basic ability to hold her laughter, Catherine snorted.

"What the fuck did you say?" spat Jimmy.

Over her shoulder, Fiona assured, "Nothing!"

As the women filed back into the house, Jimmy looked down at the joint still burning between his fingers. He had no idea how to even begin to comprehend the sight he walked in on. Twelve hours. He left them alone together for twelve hours, and now they were suddenly best friends?

Civility between the scorned women was something he didn't mind, but the last thing Jimmy needed was his pseudo girlfriend and former mistress forging any semblance of camaraderie. He imagined it ending with one of them — Fiona — holding him down while the other — Catherine — smothered him with a pillow.

He didn't like this one bit, but making them hate each other again was a feat for another day.

Taking a hit from the joint he'd stashed away for later, he furrowed his brow when he realized all the fun had been sucked dry from it now that Catherine and Fiona were in on his latest favorite pastime. Slowly exhaling the lungful of smoke, Jimmy couldn't figure out why all the women in his life — including Kerrianne — were hellbent making him miserable and trying to put him into an early grave. The only one who didn't ask him for anything was Eamonn. But even then he'd only give it another year or two. They always had to have their greedy little fingers in something he found joy in.

Back in the living room, Jimmy took a seat in the armchair facing the couch the women occupied. The bag of Flamin' Hot Cheetos Fiona and Catherine were passing back and forth never looked better. He forced himself to concentrate on the discussion at hand, not the delicious spicy snack.

"I'm only gonna ask this once: who went through my bags? If I don't get a straight answer outta youse, I'm putting your arses on the first flight out to Dublin. Good luck dealin' with immigration and customs."

"Oh, Jesus Christ. It was me!" Catherine raised her hand. "If you didn't want me to rummage through it, you never would have made Eamonn's birthday the goddamn lock combination."

Jimmy sat forward in the chair, his glassy eyes narrowing. "What am I gonna have to do so it gets through your thick skull not to break into my fuckin' locks?"

"Leave the poor girl alone, Jimmy," said Fiona, taking the bag from Catherine. "You went soft on her and she saw Filip all within a handful of hours. Don't you think she deserves a wee pick-me-up?"

Jimmy's head nearly exploded. "You bloody told her?!"

Catherine jumped to her feet, pulling the knitted cardigan tighter around her torso. "Of course I told her! I needed someone to talk to and you fuckin' refused to!"

"Unbelievable." Lunging forward, Jimmy gave in to his craving and snatched the bag of Cheetos from Fiona.

She wiped her greasy, crumb-covered fingers onto her pants, leaving behind a bright red stain. "You can't be mad at her. She was feelin' like shite, and undesirable...just needed some reassurance is all."

"I — I fuckin' told you..." He dropped his head, unable to look Catherine in the eye, before gazing back to Fiona. "Did you tell her that it never happened to us?"

"So it was me!" Catherine shouted, her voice growing thick as the tears rolled down her cheeks. "It's because I haven't lost all the pregnancy weight, isn't it?" She lifted her shirt to her bellybutton and eased down the waistband of her joggers, showing off the puffy pink c-section scar. "Or because of this?"

The smoldering joint in one hand and Cheeto's in the other, Jimmy shrugged. "I couldn't give a shite about the scar, and you've always been on the wee chubby side, but-"

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Fiona asked, genuinely.

Catherine only cried harder.

"If you would let me finish," he took a drag, "I was gonna say, Catherine, that your...chubbiness is part of your appeal."

Fiona pinched the bridge of her nose before shooting Jimmy a nasty look. She was irritated the only thing he ever managed to do was make a bad situation even worse.

Watching Catherine bawl her eyes out and half-listening to Fiona as she chewed him a new asshole, he leaned back in the chair, wondering how everything went from zero-to-sixty in the blink of an eye.

As Catherine turned on her heels to run to her bedroom, Fiona called her back and told her to sit on the couch. Standing up, she took the joint from Jimmy for another hit. She was too sober to be playing peacemaker between the malcontent quondam lovers. After passing it to Catherine, she pointed a finger to Jimmy.

"You need to apologize and kiss her arse for the next century for sayin' what you bloody did." Fiona turned to Catherine, fighting the urge to laugh at the blubbering mess of a woman trying to toke. "And you — you need to just ignore him. He's a prick; nothin' he says is worth listenin' to."

Jimmy fell silent. He didn't have the slightest clue that his nerves getting the best of him the night before affected her as much as it did. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel like shit. Catherine met his gaze, wiping her tears with the sleeve of her cardigan.

When it seemed like the situation was calming, Fiona took the joint and Cheetos. "I'm going to bed so youse can figure this shite out. For the love of God, keep it in your fuckin' pants; the both of youse. Ya each deserve a smack for thinkin' it was a good idea in the first place."

With that said, Fiona headed to her bedroom. That left Jimmy and Catherine. He was the last person she wanted to be around at this point, but he didn't give her the chance to escape. Before they heard the sound of Fiona's door closing, Jimmy moved off the chair and cornered Catherine on the couch.

She tried pushing him away as his hand darted out to dry her cheeks. She gave up with he pulled her in for a tight hug, curling her arms around his neck.

He whispered, nuzzling his nose into her hair, "I'm sorry, a chuisle. I didn't mean it."

Jimmy could feel her tears dampening his shirt. It was too late before he realized what he said earlier. Holding her as she cried, in the context of what just happened, it was all too reminiscent of the time he comforted her after Catherine overheard one of her brother's friends refer to her as _Liam's pudgy wee sister._

"You're an arsehole." Catherine pulled away, wiping her nose.

"Aye," he moved her thick, heavy tresses behind her shoulder, "I'm the biggest jackass on the face of the Earth. And you're the most gorgeous woman I've ever laid eyes on."

"Just stop. You're only sayin' that because Fi told you to."

"Catch yourself on. Ya really must be high to think I'd do somethin' just because Fi told me to. C'mon, how long've you known me?"

_Too long_, Catherine wanted to say.

"Last night had nothin' to do with you, okay? So get that thought outta your wee head. After hearin' you talk about how _mind-blowing_ sex with Dessie is, it fucked with me head. I wasn't focused on you, I was too busy thinkin' about him. That was the problem. Not you."

She nodded, and Jimmy took her cheeks in his hands. "Can we move past this? Try again?"

"Are you askin' if I'll shag you?"

Jimmy crinkled his nose. "When you put it like that, it just sounds so...so crass."

"I'm the one bein' crass? Because if Jimmy O is anything, it certainly isn't crass."

"Just shut up and kiss me."

"You're provin' m-"

Before Catherine had a chance to finish her thought, Jimmy sealed his mouth around hers.

His tongue pushed passed her lips, desperate to taste her honeyed mouth. Catherine struggled to breathe; he sucked the breath right out of her chest. Wrapping her arms around Jimmy's neck, her fingers raked through his graying hair. His hands found her sides, seamlessly sitting back and moving Catherine onto his lap.

Feeling his hand slip under her joggers and panties to grab a handful of her ass, Catherine's senses kicked in.

She broke the kiss, resting her cheek on the side of his head. "We can't be doin' this, Jimmy. I'm not seventeen anymore — I have three kids, a husband...I pay a bloody mortgage."

Jimmy wrapped his arms tightly around Catherine, never wanting to let go. He took a deep breath, his head spinning by the scent of her perfume he loved so much.

"It's over, isn't it?" he asked. "For good?"

Catherine nodded, not even bothering to hold her tears back. She didn't want him to let her go either, but she couldn't even begin to fathom the thought of losing Dessie.

And for what? A few nights of mediocre sex at best.

Now it was her turn to whisper an apology.

"I love you, so much," she croaked, holding Jimmy's head against her chest. He could hear her heart racing. "I'll love you for eternity, I promise, but it would be a disaster to try to resurrect whatever it was we had. Especially with how shaky things have been between us the last year."

_I love you_.

That was all Jimmy needed to hear.

* * *

**Dundalk - Republic of Ireland**

Patrick had no idea what he was doing walking into that party.

Nothing good ever happened after midnight.

He was fifty-three, not twenty, and three steps inside, he was already annoyed with the loud music and swaying blokes who clearly couldn't hold their liquor.

Then again, scoping out the drunken candidates who Dessie had his eye on recruiting was far better than being in Belfast with Olivia nagging him.

Nonchalantly making his way into the kitchen, Patrick grabbed a beer from the fully stocked fridge. On his way outside, he was stopped to do a shot. The tequila went down far smoother than he'd expected. As they lined up another round, he couldn't believe how much younger and younger the recruits were getting these days.

He passed up the glass some blond kid tried offering him, opting to sit in the garden instead.

The crowd outside was more his style. The five old-timers sat in silence, drinking their beers, smoking, and watching the chaos unfold inside. Finishing his can, Patrick crushed it. He got up, heading back in to piss before grabbing another beer.

He found the bathroom upstairs, tucked away at the end of a dark hallway. Curling his hand around the doorknob, he jiggled to find it locked.

"Occupied!" came a male voice.

Patrick froze. The voice sounded too familiar. Husky, a thick South Armagh brogue.

What are the fucking chances? he wondered. Showing up at the same goddamn party as his son-in-law. It was a Saturday night, so maybe he couldn't blame Dessie for needing a couple of hours to himself after being solely in charge of the three boys for the last handful of days. Still, that didn't mean Patrick wouldn't chew Dessie a new asshole for handing off his one responsibility while his wife was halfway around the world dealing with Chibs.

Resting his back against the wall opposite of the door, Patrick lit a smoke as he waited for Dessie to finish up. He was almost through the cigarette when the door finally opened.

"Shite, Paddy!" Dessie said, quickly closing the door behind him. "When did you get here?"

The way Dessie went from relaxed to agitated in half a second flat made Patrick's palms start to sweat. He surprised himself by staying so calm.

"Not too long ago. Figured I'd check out the sacks'o shite you've been lookin' to recruit. Gotta tell ya, I'm not impressed."

Dessie was about to defend his choice of recruits when the bathroom door started to open. He grabbed the knob, quickly jerking it shut.

The door opened again, this time too fast for Dessie to react. Patrick's blood ran ten-degrees below freezing when he saw the leggy blonde fluffing her curls. He looked at Dessie, fighting every urge to kick the asshole's teeth in.

"Paddy, I swe-"

Patrick bit the inside of his lip so hard, he could taste blood. Not caring there was an extra pair of eyes watching, Patrick dropped his smoke, then grabbed Dessie by the collar of his shirt shoving him up against the wall.

"How many have there been?"

Panicking, Dessie tried to crawl out of the hole he dug himself into. "Nothin' happened, I was jus-"

"Don't you fuckin' dare lie to me, boyo," Patrick snarled through clenched teeth. "How many other women?"

Dessie's gaze flicked to the woman who bolted down the stairs. Suddenly the second-rate blow jobs didn't seem worth the inevitable beatdown.

Not like he didn't deserve it.

Somehow, getting caught by Patrick felt a hell of a lot worse than getting caught by Catherine.

"This was only the second time."

Patrick couldn't believe how blase Dessie's answer came across. Smelling the tequila oozing from Dessie's pores, he told himself it was only the booze and not a lack of guilt.

"_Only _the second time, huh?" Patrick pressed his forearm against Dessie's throat. "You came to my house six months ago and promised me you were done with this. I guess that makes me a fuckin' fool for thinkin' a piece'o shite like you would treat my Catherine right."

Never in his life did Dessie feel as sub-human as he did now. "I'm sorry."

"Apologize to your wife, not me."

"Are you gonna tell her?"

Patrick shook his head. He hated Dessie for putting him in this position. "It's not my place to. That's on you to tell her."

A weight lifted off Dessie's chest. "I appreciate that. As soon as she gets back, I'll tell her. And I swear, I'm fuckin' done with the whores."

"Fuck you." Letting go of Dessie, Patrick started walking back down the hall. All he wanted to do now was get back to Belfast. Stopping mid-way, he turned on his heels to see Dessie crouched, his face in his hands. "You know, since Catherine left to go Stateside with Jimmy, I've been a nervous wreck wonderin' if anything'll happen between 'em. Right about now Dess, I wouldn't blame her if she fucks the bloke."


	89. Queen of Spades

**Belfast – Northern Ireland **

Tensions were high.

The animosity was so thick, Dessie nearly choked on it when he walked into Patrick and Olivia's house with the boys. He knew Patrick made Olivia privy to what he'd encountered at the party in Dundalk when Olivia eased Danny from Dessie's arms without making eye contact. Nor did she say two words to him. As for Patrick, he didn't even acknowledge Dessie's presence. When Eamonn and Sean went running straight for their grandfather, Patrick simply whisked the boys off into the kitchen to pump them full of sugar.

"I shouldn't be too late," said Dessie, attempting to make small-talk with Olivia. "Just a quick job…shouldn't take more than a couple of hours."

Olivia took the diaper bag from Dessie, quickly turning her attention back to the very active baby in her arms. "Whatever you say, Dessie."

His heart dropped into his stomach while the hot sting of tears burned his eyes. Right then Dessie realized he'd been cast out of the O'Toole inner-circle. Once someone was out, it was nearly impossible to get back in. Now he wondered how long it would be until Brien showed up at his doorstep, bat in hand, ready to deliver a swift dose of the street justice he well deserved.

The crippling guilt crashing into him like a tidal wave destroyed him. Dessie well enough knew there was no excuse for what he did and all he could do was try to make up for it with Catherine's parents before she banished him to the doghouse.

"Look, Liv, I'll tell you exactly what I told Paddy. I'm really sorry for what I did, honest. And I'm done with the other lasses; for real this time."

It was a dagger to the chest seeing how unchanged and apathetic Olivia's expression remained. She pursed her lips, lightly shaking her head. "I've no idea what you're talkin' about."

Yep – he was an outsider. For some reason that felt worse than if Patrick and Brien used their fists to talk instead.

Before Dessie lost his composure, he kissed Danny's forehead and headed back out to his car. Folding his arms over the top of the steering wheel, Dessie dropped his head. He tightly squeezed his eyes shut, hoping that would stop the tears.

It didn't.

As they slid down his burning cheeks, it felt like hot scalpels slicing him open. Years of pent up frustration and self-hatred frantically clawed at the surface. Dessie couldn't keep it in any longer.

He screamed at the top of his lungs. He balled his hands into tight fists and beat the steering wheel and dashboard as hard as he could. The throbbing pain of his bloody knuckles hardly registered; he was lucky he didn't break either of his hands or the dash.

There was no way he could pin-point were in his marriage to Catherine he'd gotten the itch to stray. In retrospect, she was the perfect wife. Unlike Eilish, Catherine had done absolutely nothing to deserve that kind of betrayal.

Dessie knew he was a terrible person. He drank and smoked heavily, and used street-purchased narcotics to numb the emotional and mental pain of two decades in the Irish Republican Army. He drove too fast for his own good. He broke the law.

But when it came to Catherine and the boys, he wanted to be the best man possible. He couldn't stomach the thought of them being hurt by him and his juvenile mentality. It was difficult for Dessie to comprehend how someone as perfect as she could love someone as worthless as him.

In the long run, he wondered if Catherine, Eamonn, Sean, Danny especially, would be better off if he were back in Maghaberry or in the ground like Darragh.

After pulling himself together, Dessie started the car. He drove to Holywood Golf Club in east Belfast, which everyone in Northern Ireland knew was the home club of Rory McIlroy.

The course was almost in arm's reach of Palace Barracks, which was the headquarters for the British army and MI5. Dessie somewhat knew the spectacular view of Belfast Lough and the Antrim coastline that it offered. Over a handful of years, he played a few rounds of golf with a friend of his who was a farmer in Drumintee and a member of the club. Sometimes they'd meet up for a drink there. It was a place where zero republican talk happened considering it teemed with likes of police and army.

However, his visit today was not a social one. It had nothing to do with golf.

He quickly found a parking spot and grabbed the bag of clubs he'd borrowed from the back of the car. Dessie tugged on the collar of his sole polo-shirt, hoping it and his tan trousers would help him blend in. As long as he acted as he belonged there, no one would bat an eye.

In the pro shop, he paid the fee from the wad of petty cash he picked up from Donny in Newry earlier in the day.

When he tee-ed up at the first hole, Dessie looked around the course. Thankfully it was fairly quiet with only a couple of teenagers who were several holes ahead of him.

On purpose, he hit the ball to the left of the green, so it landed out near a collection of trees. Slinging the bag with the clubs over his shoulder, he set off to find it. The ball landed a distance away from the clubhouse and the trees offered some sort of coverage. He could see down the course, on to Demense Road, where mainly semidetached houses sat.

From the front pocket of the bag, he pulled out a rangefinder. His old one had been confiscated by the RUC and entered into evidence in the case which forever branded him as one of the south Armagh snipers. Just owning a new one would be enough to revoke his license.

Dessie focused his right eye through the rangefinder, working fast. The house that caught his attention was 400 yards from where he stood. It didn't come as a surprise to see most of the trees and bushes had been cleared from around the house. Given who lived there, improved viability was a given. Dessie didn't give a shit about what was set up to deal with burglars. All he cared about was making sure he had a decent line, and in his professional opinion, he did.

Packing up the rangefinder, Dessie snatched his rogue golf ball off the ground. Walking to the second hole, he took his phone out of his pocket and opened WhatsApp. The message he sent was short, concise.

_Rally the Queen of Spades. 2 o'clock._

* * *

**Sacramento, California – United States **

This was punishment.

And for what exactly, Catherine didn't have the slightest idea.

So much shit had gone down, she could only guess it was cumulative. Though, it didn't take a genius to figure out it had been her stealing the joint from Jimmy's suitcase which popped his bullshit bubble.

At three a.m., after only an hour or so of sleep, Jimmy dragged Catherine out of bed by the ankle and started screaming at her to change into tracksuit pants and a t-shirt. With fatigue clouding her judgment coupled with the added stress of him yelling in her face, it had taken Catherine four tries just to get her left sneaker tied.

In the dead of night, he made her run. Despite there being no mountains or hills, that didn't deter him from the usual mantra of "three miles up, three miles down." She ran the full six miles in just over two hours, a far cry from the forty-five minutes she mastered before.

Then again, when she was eighteen and first started her rigorous physical training for the Republican Army, she hadn't been a nearly pack-a-day smoker and she was a hell-of-a-lot thinner.

They made it back to the house just as the sun starting peeking over the horizon. Jimmy called her every derogatory name in the book, making her feel utterly ashamed of herself when she fell to her knees in the front lawn and puked from overexertion.

He hadn't even given her the chance to catch her breath before the real torture began.

She had done this before – far too many times to count – but instead of being out in the freezing wind and pouring rain of County Kerry, she was in the garage of the safe house in Sacramento.

Her arms were shaking, her back and neck screaming for it to be over. But Catherine reminded herself to keep strong. It was a game of mind over matter. It wasn't pain she felt, it was burning discomfort and it would be over soon.

"Straighten those fucking arms!" Jimmy yelled, attempting to knock the rifle out of her hands.

Not realizing she slacked, Catherine adjusted the unloaded AR-15 in her grip and held the rifle higher above her head. There was no way of knowing just how long she'd been standing stationary for.

Two seconds, two minutes, two hours?

At this rate, it felt like two goddamn days.

From her weapons training with Dessie twelve years ago, Catherine knew the rifle in her hands weighed precisely six-and-a-half pounds. If Jimmy had popped the magazine in, that would add another grueling pound. She couldn't remember the last time six-and-a-half pounds felt so ungodly heavy. She was sure her arms would give out at any moment.

"I have no self-discipline!" she yelled back at Jimmy.

He lit a cigarette, walking circles around her to make sure her form met his unreasonable standards. When he noticed her knees were bent more than they should be, he kicked the back of her right leg, forcing it to give out. She fell straight onto her knees, not daring to drop the rifle.

"You're a fucking disgrace to the cause," he snarled.

Jumping straight back to her feet, Catherine replied, "I have no self-discipline! I am a disgrace to the Irish Republican Army!"

Ripping the Armalite from her hands, Jimmy added the magazine then handed it back. In doing that, he had a lot of faith in her, Catherine realized. Nothing was stopping her from chambering a round and shooting him dead right then and there.

"We have no armored cars or Tenders for to show…" he started.

For Catherine, she was reliving her days on that farm in the Irish Republic. "We're ready to defend ourselves no matter where we go! We're out for our Republic and to hell with your Free State – we're the fightin' third battalion of the Belfast Brigade!"

Jimmy flicked his cigarette at the back of Catherine's neck. When the smoldering cherry hit her sweaty flesh and bounced to the floor, Catherine didn't flinch. He was purposefully trying to break her concentration. He wanted her to fall out of stance, itching for a reason to either run her again or make her do push-ups.

Seeing how shaky her fatigued legs were, he muttered two words,

"Arse out."

The rifle still tightly gripped in her hands, Catherine held it out in front of her and moved into a squatting position. With her perfect ass in the perfect spot, Jimmy used the opportunity to grope.

As his hand caressed her through the polyester of her jogging pants, Catherine's skin crawled. She desperately wanted to slap him away, but she worried about what he had in store for her if her posture broke. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to find her happy place. Imagining herself back home in Crossmaglen, swimming in Lough Ross with Dessie, Eamonn, and Sean didn't do anything. Thinking of cradling her swaddled wee Danny only made Catherine far angrier than she already was.

Having her ass kicked and groped by a senior commander who had zero authority over her anymore was far from the reason why she made the trip Stateside. Jimmy was doing everything in his power to keep her from seeing Chibs, Catherine was about ready to take the risk of being detained at the airport so she could head back home. She loved her uncle dearly and leaving before he was released from the hospital would fill her with crippling guilt, but there was only so much more she could take.

"I fuckin' hate you," she said through gritted teeth.

Jimmy didn't respond to the jab. She'd said that to him many times before so he decided not to take it personally. Nevertheless, it still struck a nerve. He didn't care who hated him, but hearing Catherine say it in a voice that sounded on the verge of tears softened him up a little.

Rounding the front of her, Jimmy eased the Armalite from her hands. Like the good soldier she was, Catherine didn't take that as the green-light to move from her current position. She stayed put as best she could, watching him as he carefully rested the loaded rifle against the wall. When he peeled off his shirt, relieving his still toned chest, Catherine averted her eyes back to the spot she'd been concentrating on.

Instead of focusing on Jimmy being half-naked, Catherine brought her mind to Dessie, recalling every inch of rigid muscle he's rebuilt in the year since they first got together.

Jimmy dropped to his knees in front of Catherine.

"Get down," he said, falling onto his hands. "Do the best you can to keep up."

Catherine internally groaned as she maneuvered herself into the push-up position. Even when she was in the best shape of her life, she hadn't been able to keep up with Jimmy. She thought it was wholly unfair to expect her to be able to when he never let the strength he mastered during his time in the military to evade him. Making her run, and hold rifles and full liter bottles of water above her head all those years ago was more or less designated for discipline purposes, not to make her physically strong.

The moment Jimmy went down, Catherine followed suit. She managed to keep pace with him for three push-ups until she started feeling the aftermath holding the rifle for so long.

As she rose for the fifth one, the inevitable happened. Her muscles finally met failure and she fell on her stomach. Resting her cheek to the dirty concrete floor, it was an instinctual move to lace her fingers on the back of her neck.

Catherine lazily closed her eyes, she inhaled through her nose and exhaled from her mouth. Her heart was pounding so fast and hard, she was shocked it didn't stop beating altogether. It wasn't until she had a moment to rest did she finally see how out-of-shape she was. As a leader of ONH, there was no excuse as to why she couldn't keep up with the same standards she expected from the recruits.

Rolling over on her back, Catherine wiped her forehead with her sweat-soaked t-shirt. When Jimmy finished his set of push-ups, he stood over Catherine, making her feel even worse to see he hardly broke a sweat.

"Ya did good, a chuisle. I'm proud of you." Jimmy extended his hand. She hesitantly took it but appreciated the gesture to help her back to her feet.

Tired and severely dehydrated, she went light headed from standing too quickly.

Brushing the dirt and grime off the front of her shirt, Catherine just wanted to forget it even happened.

"I'm gonna take a shower then head out to see Filip."

Catherine didn't even give Jimmy a chance to reply. She headed straight for the door and pushed her way into the kitchen.

Fiona was puttering about, pouring water into the coffeemaker. Hearing the door close, she turned around to see a beet-red, sweaty Catherine resting against it. Her heart dropped into her stomach, genuinely feeling for Catherine.

When Jimmy pulled Catherine from bed, Fiona had been awake. Listening to Jimmy berate the former True army volunteer had been sobering, reminding Fiona of her lousy days fighting the cause. There was absolutely nothing she could say to Catherine to help make her feel better, so instead, she offered a sympathetic head nod.

To avoid any questions she certainly didn't want to answer, Catherine bolted straight for the bathroom when she made eye contact with Fiona.

Not even a minute after the shower started running, Jimmy came waltzing back inside with his t-shirt slung over his shoulder.

Scooping coffee grounds into the filter, Fiona couldn't bite her tongue. "You're too hard on the poor lass."

"Bollocks," he grabbed a cup from the cabinet and filled it with cold water, "I'd've done the same thing to any of the other lads. If anything, I'm too soft on her."

Fiona set the plastic container and the spoon on the counter, turning around. "You think you're too soft on her. Do you honestly believe that?"

"Aye. You've seen better than anyone else what I've allowed her to get away with. If it would've been anyone else who stole those guns from me or put a blade in my goddamn leg, she would've been strung up a long time ago."

Fiona wanted to slap him for being so blind. While it was true what he said, in her mind, Jimmy failed to see the bigger picture.

"And ya wanna know why she did all that shite? Because you pushed her too far in the other direction. For some reason, that stupid lass thinks you walk on water. You had her eatin' from the palm of your hand and she did everything you told her to do, and she did it well. But she was never good enough for you and you never let her forget it, either. Ya beat her black-and-blue, then threatened to have her kneecapped while she was pregnant with _your_ son and-"

"I didn't know she was pregnant when that happened."

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph." Fiona wondered if this conversation was even worth having. There was no reasoning with a man like Jimmy, so all she was doing was wasting her breath. She kept going only because she knew Catherine needed someone besides Dessie in her corner. Fiona loved Patrick to death, but she knew the man was useless when it came to separating Catherine and Jimmy. "I guess since you didn't know, it makes it all okay. What's your excuse for the kneecap order then, huh? Ya damn well knew she was knocked up when that happened. How can you justify wanting to do such a horrific thing to the mother of your wee Eamonn?"

Jimmy's expression tightened as he dumped the rest of his water down the sink. There was no excuse for either of the things he did and there was no way he could justify it either. It didn't matter how angry he'd gotten with Catherine, none of it should have ever happened, he well enough understood that. He couldn't admit that aloud, because that would mean he'd done something wrong and Jimmy never did anything wrong.

"I didn't beat her nearly as bad as I could've and I withdrew the kneecap order an hour after I issued it. So, I think you just proved your original point wrong there, Fi. I'm too soft on her — she needs to be reminded who runs things in the six counties. It sure as shite isn't Desmond fucking Dennehy."

"You're so sick in the head, it's disgusting." Fiona went back to preparing the coffee.

"I'm not sick," he snickered. "I'm twisted. There's a difference."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night."

* * *

Balling up his t-shirt, Jimmy was headed down the hall to the master bedroom so he could grab a quick shower before heading out to start his day. When he passed by the door to the bathroom Catherine occupied, he stopped short. He could hear the shower running, and knowing she was in there washing away the sweat from the gratuitous hell he put her through started weighing a little heavily on his mind.

Maybe Fiona was right, he wondered.

Maybe in this instance — and only this instance — he'd been a little too hard on her. It was difficult for him to accept the fact she wasn't under his command anymore, which was part of the reason he snapped and put her through grueling discipline exercises. Losing her and Dessie left a void in the True army ranks that were deeply felt. Jimmy wanted not only her back but Dessie too, though that would never happen so long as the Irish Kings still had their stronghold on the North.

He was wracking his brain trying to figure out why Catherine hadn't just told him to fuck off before going back to bed. She was an officer, there was no reason why she should have had to put with that shit to begin with. But the more Jimmy pushed her body into complete agony and her refusal to give up left him more confused than ever. He refused to get his hopes up in thinking she wanted to come back.

Not giving himself a second to overthink his impulsive decision, Jimmy nixed the idea of a shower alone and quietly slipped into the bathroom. She was hidden behind the shower curtain, which acted as the perfect shield as he stripped from the rest of his clothes. Once he was naked, Jimmy inched the curtain back, finding Catherine to be standing under the cascade of hot water as she rested her forehead against the wall.

He knew her mind was nowhere near reality. When he stepped into the shower behind her, she didn't even move. He closed the small gap between them, resting his hands on her bare hips.

"What the fuck!" she yelped. Spinning around as quickly as she could, Catherine slapped Jimmy's arm. "What the fuck is wrong with you? Scared me half to death, so ya did! Get out!"

Scaring Catherine hadn't intentionally been part of the plan. He was so desperate to feel her naked skin under his fingers again, Jimmy was afraid she would have stopped him a lot sooner if he made his presence known.

She tried pushing him away to no avail. Catherine was too physically tired to muster the strength needed to make that happen. Jimmy reached out to grab her wrist and when he had a hold on her, she tried twisting it to loosen his grip. He refused to relent.

"Seriously, get the fuck outta here!" she wined.

Jimmy let go, but only so he could pull Catherine into him. He wrapped her in his arms, resting his cheek to the side of her head. When he took a breath, he caught sweet notes of her fragrant shampoo.

"I'm sorry for pullin' that shite this morn'," he muttered. "I was outta line. You're an officer and not even in the True army anymore."

Catherine was caught so off guard by the apology, she was at a loss for words. Nor did she want to ruin the moment by spouting her mouth off. Jimmy offering up an apology was something that happened so few and far between that she needed to take it and run.

"It's whatever. No hard feelings." Catherine gave in and curled her arms around his sides.

Standing with him under the hot spray of the shower, it was a shock to her system. There were so many voices screaming at Catherine to untangle herself and leave, but her feet were glued to the tub. She was missing Dessie so badly, that she closed her eyes and imagined it was him, not Jimmy, holding her tight. The two men smelt so distinctly different that it was nearly impossible for Catherine to even do that.

What she said about there being no resent on her part for what happened, Catherine meant it. As much as it had upset her at first, once she stepped in that shower and became alone with her thoughts, she realized Jimmy had done her a favor. She had been so focused only on how much her body ached, there hadn't been much opportunity to dwell on what she was missing at home.

"Let me buy you breakfast. And afterward, I'll take you to see Filip."

Lifting her head off Jimmy's chest, she could tell he was serious. This was his attempt at making it up to her. She wasn't about to turn down a free meal and a ride.

Catherine nodded. "I'd like that."

Uncurling his arms from around Catherine, Jimmy kissed her forehead. "Now get out so I can have some privacy."

Not in the mood to fight, Catherine got out of the shower. She quickly dried off and left the towel for him, dashing naked across the hall to her bedroom.

When Jimmy finished, he wrapped the towel around his waist headed for his respective room. Before getting dressed, the first thing he went for was his phone on the dresser. Scrolling through his unread messages, there was one in particular that caught his attention.

_Rally the Queen of Spades. 2 o'clock_, it read.

Picking up his watch, Jimmy checked the time. He had six hours to assemble the troops.


	90. Blah, Blah, Blah

Catherine pushed her sunglasses into her hair, balancing two coffees from Starbucks in one hand as she wandered the halls of the ICU floor in St. Thomas.

This time around, she was thankful there hadn't been a repeat of the near breakdown she had. She'd been wary of coming back, scared out of her wits that the same taunting images of her past would find a way to ruin her day. Not only was she in a lot better mindset to see Chibs, but she was also feeling far more comfortable as he wasn't holding anything against her.

When she approached his door, Catherine stood out of view for a second. Despite the calmness she managed to muster, she had to prepare herself for him peppering her with questions about why she hadn't reached out to Liam yet. Of all people, she wished Chibs would at least understand why she was hesitant. She may have shown her brother mercy by getting him out of Ireland, but the council wouldn't be so forgiving if they discovered she knew where Liam was.

Mentally counting to three, Catherine took the plunge and walked in. Chibs was pleased to see her again, which was obvious by the wide smile quickly spreading across his face. Even he'd been worried he saw the last of her when she left the hospital the prior afternoon.

"You're spoiling me with the visits, a thaisce." Chibs propped himself up in bed, moving his breakfast tray out of the way so she could set down one of the coffees she was holding. "I can't get used to seein' you this often. It'll break my wee heart when you head home. What are you doin' here so early?"

Catherine took a seat in the chair beside the bed, crossing her legs as she removed the lid of her coffee to blow across the top. "Got an early jump on the morn' is all. Jimmy was up too so he offered to drop me off on his way out."

Hearing her mention Jimmy's name, Chibs stopped himself short of taking a sip from the coffee she brought him. When Catherine realized he stopped drinking not because he was shocked Jimmy would do such a good deed, but rather because he worried the loathsome son-of-bitch found an opportunity to spike the coffee, she sprang into action. Reaching over, Catherine set her coffee on the tray, taking the other one from Chibs' hand.

"I promise it's just milk and sugar. I held 'em the entire time we were in the car together."

"Aye, thanks," he said meekly, hoping she didn't notice the deep scarlet scorching his cheeks. He felt so pathetic for even worrying about that in front of her.

"Any news from the doc on when you'll be gettin' the hell outta here?"

Taking a sip of the coffee that was a little too sweet for his liking, Chibs shrugged. With Jimmy in town, he didn't want to exactly tell her he'd have to leave St. Thomas for a hospital well outside of the security of Charming. "Should only be here for a few more days. I'm ready to make a run for it though. Drivin' me mad bein' laid up like a goddamn invalid."

"You need the time to rest," she half-scolded. "This isn't some wee injury you can just ignore. Listen to the doc, yeah? If not for yourself, then for Kerri. The poor girl was devastated when she heard what happened."

Chibs turned his head, feeling somewhat guilty he was putting all of his girls through such an emotional rollercoaster. For them, he'd do whatever they asked.

"How is Kerrianne doin'? Like, how's she _really _doin'? When Fi was here, she gave me the usual bullshite about everythin' bein' jus' fine."

For a brief second, Catherine thought about giving the same half-assed answered. There was no reason to drop the truth into his lap when he had enough to worry about in Charming. But like every man in her life, Chibs never sugarcoated reality for her because he knew she could handle it. Being honest with him was the least she could do — he deserved to know what his daughter was up to.

"She's a teenager," chuckled Catherine. "She's a good, bright girl though, despite the hormones. I dunno if Fi told you, but she's at St. Dom's and she'll be startin' her A-Level classes next year."

While it was good to hear she was doing well in school, there was one thing Catherine said that piqued his curiosity. "What do you mean despite the hormones? She's not gettin' into trouble as your ma did, is she?"

"There was a wee lad who caught her eye but trust when I say she's got a decent head on her shoulders. Her taste in men does cause for a…slight concern."

"Jesus." Chibs pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes. Hearing his daughter was old enough to start dipping her toes into the dating pool was a hard pill for him to swallow. "Who's the lad?"

Catherine hesitated telling Chibs. She didn't want to break his heart before noon. "His name was Brennan O'Farrell. He was one of Jimmy's recruits."

"Oh, for Christ's sake. You keep her away from the likes those fellas — wait, what do mean by he was?"

"That's a story for another day, so it is. But you do have my word that he's been taken care of. Dessie made sure there's no way he'll be sniffing around her anymore. Ya know she did ask me if you were," Catherine paused, shifting in her chair, "she asked if you and Fi ever ran with the likes of me Da and Jimmy if you know what I mean."

Chibs felt a sudden tightness in his chest. It was only a matter of time before his daughter started digging for answers. "Aye. What did ya tell her?"

"I told her no, that neither you nor Fi did. But she's too smart for her own good. I think she already knows. She's a goddamn solicitor in the making, I swear. She never asks questions she doesn't already know the answers to. When she asked if I was in, I told her the truth, and I told her what happened to Darragh as a wee warning."

Reaching out, Chibs squeezed Catherine's knee. "I appreciate that, kid. Keep an eye on her for me? Don't let her get wrapped up in all this shite."

"Of course. I do what I can; she's too good to up like the rest of us."

"I said the same about you where you were a wee girl."

Catherine sharply sniffled, trying to stop the tears from welling in her eyes. "That was my fault. I didn't take you seriously when you told me to keep well away from the IRA. Ya know, I didn't even find out Jimmy was in until I was like fifteen. When he caught word that I was passin' info to the lads on the Falls about Brit foot patrols, he finally told me he was a bloody commander and that I should be going to him with anything I overheard. He'd give me a tenner for every piece of credible intel I fed him."

Chibs stiffened. This was the first time Catherine willingly opened up to him about what went on after he left Belfast. He was desperate to know when she reached the point of no return and he had to tread lightly to get anything more out of her. Like anyone involved in the armed conflict, she kept those truths locked away.

"Is that why he pushed you in? You were givin' him good intel."

Catherine shook her head. "Believe it or not, he never approached me. For some reason, everyone thinks he pushed me to do it when that's not the truth. I went to him; I pushed him to get me in touch with a recruitin' officer. He jumped through hoops for me because my Da threatened 'em all sayin' I was off-limits."

"Why would you throw your future away like that? You saw first hand what happened to your da…to me."

Catherine averted her eyes from Chibs. She hated thinking, let alone talking about what made her make the decision that would turn her life into such a mess. The only reason why she was willing to tell Chibs was that she was tired of everyone blaming Jimmy for the choice she willingly made.

"Because," she breathed, quickly wiping the tears off her cheeks. "After school, I went to St. Matt's to light a wee candle for me Da because he was in Maghaberry. Lorcan McInnes, the lad I was dating at the time, told me to meet him at Templemore so he could take me back to mine. Instead of being smart and walkin' through the Short Strand, I walked along Newtownards Road so I could have enough time for a smoke. When I was coming up on the Great Eastern, an off-duty Tommy who was outside the pub asked me for a light. I ignored him, but when he noticed my uniform, he started yelling some shite at me. I was so bloody stupid," Catherine bit her lip and shook her head, "I should've let it go because he was drunk. Everyone on the street just went about their business as if he wasn't beating on me right there on the pavement in the middle of the afternoon. Never in my life had I been so…humiliated. So angry. That's why I threw my future away."

Chibs moved over in bed, patting the now vacant space. Catherine darted right up, crawling in beside him. He moved the IV tubes around so she could rest her head on his chest. She wiped her nose with the back of her hand, closing her eyes and listening to the comforting rhythm of his heart. Chibs wrapped his arms securely around Catherine, nuzzling his nose into her hair.

He couldn't help the intense guilt eating away at every fiber in his body. If he hadn't been the one to screw up in the first place, she wouldn't have endured that because he would have still been in Belfast when Patrick landed himself back in prison, and Catherine never would have been left unattended to wander about the wrong side of the city.

Where the hell had Fiona been? he wondered. What about Olivia, Liam, or Brien? Most importantly, where the fuck was Jimmy when it happened? Of all people, Jimmy should have known better than the rest of them; Catherine was the kind of kid who no one could turn their back on for two seconds because it was certain she'd get herself into trouble.

"I should'o been there. Everythin' fell apart for you and Fi after I left."

Catherine lifted her head off his chest, balancing herself on her elbow. "I can talk to Jimmy, convince him to let you come back. Or even Dessie. He controls everything south of Armagh except for Newry—"

"Oh, sweetheart," Chibs whispered, tucking a wavy tress behind her ear. "You've no idea how much I'd appreciate you doing that for me, but I can't go back. Too much happened and too much time has passed. Northern Ireland isn't my home anymore."

"What about Scotland? Aunt Cait went back to Edinburgh and Padraic has been talkin' about goin' too. If it's the MC you don't wanna leave, youse could start a charter there. Brien would follow, I know that for sure."

With every word she spoke, Chibs' heart broke into tiny pieces. There was no way he could make her understand why he never wanted to return to the United Kingdom or the Republic. It had taken him far too long to constantly stop thinking about what he left behind, if he unburied the hatchet after all these years he'd either drink himself to death or eat a bullet. He couldn't even tell her he'd consider it because it would be wrong on so many levels to get her poor hopes up.

"Do me a favor?" he asked.

"For you, anything."

"Stop tryin' to get answers from Jimmy. Put aside whatever animosity you have towards Fi and have a drink wit' her. Talk to her, ask her what happened. I promise she isn't as awful as ya think she is. And while you're at it, call your fuckin' brother."

* * *

"Hold the elevator!"

Hearing the request, Catherine darted her hand out to stop the heavy doors from sliding shut. She moved off to the side, allowing for the rushed woman to make her way inside.

"Are you going down?" she asked. Catherine simply nodded and a comfortable silence fell upon them. It didn't last though. "Are you by chance Catherine O'Toole? Filip Telford's niece. Or do you go by Dennehy now?"

Catherine snapped her head to the side, grabbing a hold of the metal railing fearing her knees would buckle. She gave the stranger the once over. Her straightened hair was long and blonde, the cheap pantsuit she had on was the first clue telling Catherine this woman wasn't a doctor. A hospital administrator, maybe. Even if she were, there was no possible way she'd know anything about Catherine.

"Who the hell's askin'?"

Before she answered, the woman pressed the red emergency stop button. The elevator jolted to a stop, making Catherine almost lose her balance.

"With everything I've been told and read about you, I have to say I'm very surprised it's not Catherine O'Phelan. Whatever happened between you and Jimmy? Was his age starting to show in the bedroom? If that's the case I don't bla-"

"Who the fuck are you?" Catherine was starting to regret her choice of footwear today, opting for a pair of pink ballet flats instead of her boots where she could have concealed a knife.

"Special Agent June Stahl," she said extending her hand. "I'm with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms."

"You're a fed." When Catherine refused to take June's hand, she took no offense and lowered it. During her long career, she learned the criminals were just as friendly as her colleagues, in that they weren't at all. "What is it that you want with me?"

There was no point in beating around the bush. This was the first time she's managed to get this close to someone who was actually in the IRA, June didn't want to screw it up with useless questions that would only inflame Catherine. She thought back to the conference call she had earlier in the week with an agent from MI5 who informed June that Catherine may be in Charming. He gave her decent advice about the kind of dissident Republican Catherine was. The True IRA was nowhere near as organized as the Provisionals once were, but Catherine had been brought up with enough old-timers to have the same discipline instilled in her. The biggest blunder June could make was underestimating Catherine. A woman like her should never be downplayed. She's been indoctrinated just enough and usually well-armed.

"I want your baby daddy."

Catherine snorted. "You can have him. I should warn ya he isn't as domineering in the bedroom as you'd think. But then again, you seem like the kinky type who doesn't get her kicks bein' the wee submissive one, so maybe youse be a match made in heaven after all."

June wasn't in the mood to play Catherine's games. She knew she had to take control of the conversation before Catherine could. "We both know how evil Jimmy is. He ripped apart your family, then knocked you around a couple of times when you were pregnant and I'm sure you did nothing to deserve it."

"Who says I didn't deserve it?"

Jimmy may have been her least favorite person in the world, but that didn't change the fact Catherine still loved him. Unlucky for June, that love far outweighed the hatred Catherine had towards officers of the law. Catherine also had a hunch that perhaps someone—Liam—was talking again. That was the only way the insufferable American would have gotten her hands on the intimate details of her relationship with Jimmy.

She prayed she was wrong.

Tired of the smart-mouthed remarks she was getting, June lost her edge. "Look, you can play dumb all you want but your days of freedom, and Jimmy's is grossly limited the longer you Micks are here. That's a promise. It would be a damn shame if those boys you have ended up becoming wards of the State once their deadbeat, terrorist of a mother is sentenced to life in federal prison. If you help me get to Jimmy and the rest of his True IRA connections, I'll see what I can do to make sure you only spend twenty years being passed around like a wee bitch, lassie."

For some reason, watching Catherine remain stoically calm only aggravated June more. It had been so easy to rattle Donna Winston and Cherry, she failed to realize that thirty years of living in complete and utter hell turned Catherine colder than Gemma Teller. Those threats were nothing more than empty to Catherine, nothing she hadn't heard before.

Though, it was kind of refreshing on Catherine's part to not be hammered with a shower of demoralizing taunts and insults. She was far more intimidated by the PSNI than she was of the wretched woman standing in front of her who trying hard to assert her authority.

All the grandstanding managed to do was prove to Catherine the ATF had absolutely naught and were growing colossally desperate by risking it all to corner her in an elevator in some ho-dunk hospital.

Catherine bit her tongue from laughing, wanting to tell this federal agent that if she were good at her job, she'd already know that Jimmy was sitting in the parking lot waiting for Catherine to finish her visit.

"The True IRA," Catherine snickered. "They're bloody animals, so they are. I'm highly offended you've ambushed me like this, accusing me and my ex of being associated with the likes 'em when all I'm tryin' to do is make sure my uncle makes it out of here with half his head still intact. Wherever you've gotten your information from, _lassie_, you've been lied to. I'm a wee housewife, and Jimmy, he's a half broke pub owner just tryin' to make an honest livin' like the rest of us poor Irish-folk in Belfast. It seems to me, the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms should be a little less concerned about what I'm doin' here and a little more focused on the real terrorists who brought a car bomb into Teller-Morrow Automotive."

Deciding she was done with this conversation, Catherine reached around a stunned June and pressed the emergency button again to restart the elevator. Before June could conjure something half-intelligent to say, they reached the ground level. When the doors slid open, Catherine stepped out then used her foot to stop the doors from closing when she realized June wouldn't be joining her.

The nefarious smirk that spread along Catherine's red lips filled June with the same worrisome intuition she'd felt the night she rolled up onto Donna Winston's murder scene.

"Ya said your name was Special Agent June Stahl, right?" asked Catherine. June swallowed hard and nodded — turns out she downplayed Catherine after all. "Brilliant. Good luck with your inquiry into those devious bastards. It's about time someone brought 'em to justice."

The smile never dropped from Catherine's face until the doors closed. Spinning on her heels to head out through the main entrance, she frantically dug through her purse for her phone. Her thumb trembled as she swiped through the plethora of apps until she came across WhatsApp to send Jimmy a warning text to get the fuck out of there.

* * *

It took Catherine nearly forty minutes to hike to the park they agreed to meet at if things went haywire. By the time she collapsed on the bench, she had sweat right through her silk blouse, and her feet throbbed from having zero support. Looking around, she couldn't spot Jimmy's SUV but she talked herself out of the anxiety by saying it was because he'd ditched it for something else.

Twiddling her thumbs, all she wanted to do was go home. Even though she knew her chances of being picked up by the police were just as high in Belfast and Crossmaglen, there was something about being detained in a foreign country that made it all the more nerve-wracking.

Catherine tapped the toes of her shoe on the cracked concrete, checking her watch every three seconds. She nearly jumped out of her sunburned skin when her phone started vibrating in her purse. Fetching it, she was relieved to see it was a message from Jimmy.

_Chevron petrol station. 10 mins_, was all it said.

Jumping to her feet, Catherine slipped her phone into the waistband of her leggings and started walking in the direction of the gas station. This wasn't the first time they've had to play a game of musical cars, nor would it ever be the last. But as she made her way on foot in a town she knew nothing about with federal agents unequivocally hellbent on tracking she and Jimmy down, Catherine started to wonder if she was getting too old for this shit.

At twenty, sprinting through the thicket of south Armagh, or the residential areas of Belfast to evade an arrest had been an adrenaline rush like none other.

"_Goddamn it, O'Toole," _she chuckled to herself reminiscing about one of her many run-ins with the RUC, _"I swear to God if you make me run this will end very badly for you! Motherfuck… I know where you fucking live!" _

Despite her idiotic decision to make a run for the border a few months back when the PSNI came knocking, now at thirty, Catherine would prefer two days of questioning than exerting her body to rates she just wasn't used to anymore.

Though in retrospect, she'd rather not do anything that would attract their attention. Unlike Dessie who gave no thought about assembling dodgy pipe bombs in Cullyhanna, or Patrick who still never left the house without a pistol or even Jimmy who shamelessly tossed shell casings into the river when it was broad daylight.

If she and Dessie narrowly escaping death three times over the last year taught Catherine anything, it was that she was more than ready for a life of quietude. The farmhouse in Forkhill and her four boys were all she wanted.

No more running.

No more violence.

No more of the Irish Republican Army.

When she made it to the Chevron station, she was a few minutes early. With still no sign of Jimmy, Catherine went inside to buy a bottle of water and a pack of Marlboro Lights. With the cold bottle tucked under her arm, she walked back outside while tamping the pack of smokes against her wrist. That's when she saw Luke pumping gas into a blue sedan she's never seen before.

Nonchalantly, Catherine crossed the somewhat busy lot. She went right for the car Luke was servicing and slid into the front seat.

"Where's Jimmy?" she asked Luke when he finished.

He started the engine and pulled out into traffic. "Oakland. He asked me to bring you back to the pub. What gives?"

"A fucking fed," Catherine lit a much-needed smoke. "Some ATF broad cornered me at St. Thomas after I finished seein' Filip."

"I told him it was a bad idea to let you see him alone. Should've had Fiona or one of us with you."

Catherine shook her head. "Yeah, 'cause me walkin' in there with one of Jimmy's goons wouldn't seem suspicious at all. Youse don't have the slightest clue how to be inconspicuous; stand out like bloody black sheep."

"But one look at us and I bet you twenty quid the bitch would've left you alone."

She couldn't argue with that logic.

* * *

Luke escorted Catherine into the dimly lit pub in Oakland. Many of the men who worked there were either in the IRA or were close associates who knew how to keep their mouths shut.

It was quiet and empty, which was expected for the time of day. When she saw Jimmy sitting in one of the back booths with a bottle and two shot glasses on the table, Catherine pushed passed Luke to go straight for him.

Sliding in, she rested her head on her folded arms. Jimmy shooed Luke away.

"This was not part of the plan, at all," she whined. "Do you have any idea how far you made me walk?"

"After how pitiful your run was this morn' I figured you could the exercise."

Lifting her head, Catherine was at a loss for words for a moment. She accepted the whiskey he poured for her.

"Do you remember that thing we talked about?" She slammed her shot, shuddering when the booze didn't go down as smoothly as she hoped it would. "About how you're supposed to think before you speak. You're worse than Eamonn, I swear."

"Oh, so when Eamonn does it you praise him for his honesty, but when I do I'm just an arsehole."

"That's because you're not as cute as wee Eamonn."

"I resent that," Jimmy said, taking another shot. "The wee bastard looks just like me."

Catherine furrowed her brows. "Don't be callin' my son a wee bastard, you prick."

"He is. In the literal sense, anyway."

"And whose fault is that?" She tapped her long, manicured nails on the tabletop.

"It ain't fuckin' mine. I wanted to marry ya but I do remember you sayin' right to my face that you wouldn't marry me even if doing so would reunite Ireland." Jimmy offered Catherine another round which she didn't hesitate to take given how this conversation was going.

Catherine ignored his recollection, going straight for the first thought that popped into her head. "You should've pulled out. As we were driving to Wicklow, I told you we had to be careful because I was ovulating."

"Really, Catherine? I was so pissed that night, I don't think I could've remembered my name let alone remember you telling me to finish on your tits instead of in your fanny. If you were so concerned about safety, you would've pushed me off you. I probably warned you half a dozen times I was about to cum before I did."

"Just goes to show which head you were thinkin' with."

Jimmy held up his middle finger, blowing smoke rings above her head. He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray at the end of the table, more than ready to drop this conversation. "What the fuck happened at St. Thomas."

"ATF — that's what fuckin' happened. A one Special Agent June Stahl corralled me in the elevator. She told me she knows who we are and she's got one hell of a hard-on for you. She used the same threat they all do. Said it would be a shame for my boys to end up in the system and that I should give you up for a lighter sentence, blah, blah, blah. We should probably lay low for the next couple of days; start makin' arrangements to get me and Fi back home. You should also check in on Eddie to see if they've visited him. The fella doesn't know how to keep himself together when the peelers start comin' around."

"I want a lad with you at times, ya hear?" He pinched the bridge of his nose. This was the last thing he needed to be worrying about. "From now on, you and Fiona aren't be goin' to see Filip anymore."

"Understood."

Her heart started to pound when Luke, his brother Kevin, and several other of Jimmy's enforcers crowded around the table.

Without even having done anything, Catherine couldn't help feeling like she'd something to wrong the army.

"It's almost two," Luke said to Jimmy.

"What's this about?" she asked.

Jimmy reached into the breast pocket of his blazer. He pulled out a cheap flip phone, setting it on the table beside her empty shot glass.

She thought she would be sick. The army never shied away from exploiting Catherine for being multilingual. She could turn her Belfast brogue into a Russian or German one with the slightest of ease, so when it came to calling in a bomb warning she was one of their most precious assets.

"I'm not doing it," she asserted. "Not after last time when your lads fucked the entire thing up."

"It's not that kind of call, a chuisle."

"Then what's this about?"

Jimmy filled the shot glass then scooched it closer to Catherine. Luke tossed a small folded piece of paper in front of her. She ignored the booze, going straight for paper and unfolding it. There was a Belfast phone number scribbled down. It took a second to register exactly whose number it was.

"Why do you want me to call Ian?"

Realizing she had no interest in the whiskey, Jimmy drank it. With Catherine's high standing within ONH and her still fairly connected to the leadership circle of the True army, Jimmy knew he couldn't lie to her. Eventually, the truth would come out and it would only make him look like the asshole when he was nothing more than the middle-man in this entire mess.

"Do you remember what I told you about us wanting to push out Samcro and Sambel?" asked Jimmy. Catherine nodded and he continued, "McGee and O'Neill agreed to help make that a reality so long as we make sure they're taken care of financially in the future—"

Catherine cut him off, "How does Ian come into this?"

Irritated she interrupted, Jimmy rose his hand. "If you'd let me finish, you'd find out. Mother'a Christ. A few weeks ago, Sambel ran into a wee bit of trouble and it's your boy who's leading the investigation. If McGee and O'Neill end up in Maghaberry, it'll be bad for all of us."

_Your boy._ Catherine rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw the inside of her head.

"So you need me to call off the hound."

"Aye. Somethin' like that."

Jimmy's answer didn't sit well with Catherine. She picked up a cigarette, holding it between her index and middle fingers. "What's really goin' on here?"

"That's the truth, so it is." Jimmy struck his Zippo to light the smoke for her. "It's not so much as callin' off the hound as it is puttin' the auld fella down."

Catherine's world came to a grinding halt on its axis. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. She stared Jimmy right in the eye and the indifferent luster told her he was serious. The shaking cigarette gave it away that her hands were trembling, so she quickly dropped it into the ashtray.

When Catherine finally found her voice, she spoke slowly and clear, "I will not make the call."

Jimmy swallowed his bubbling fury, unable to fathom the set of brass balls she possessed to be explicitly insubordinate to him in front of his men. "Aye, Catherine. You will."

Picking the cigarette back up, she took a long drag, blowing the smoke out in a steady stream. "No, I fuckin' won't. Ian…he's a friend. He's—"

Before Catherine had a chance to finish her thought, Jimmy reached across the table and swiftly backhanded her.

The cigarette she'd been holding near her face tumbled from her grasp, falling into her lap. It burnt a hole through her black leggings. Not thinking twice about the smoldering cigarette on her thigh, Catherine brought her fingers to her cheeks, gently pressing them to the stinging flesh.

In unison, Jimmy's men shifted uncomfortably. They didn't exactly blame him for what she said disgusted them to the core. By now, her capricious affair with the English constable was an open secret that everyone coped with by turning a blind eye to. They knew it was a severe lapse in judgment brought on by a dangerous combination of too much alcohol and all-consuming grief, but they never considered the notion she'd one day take the side of a peeler.

"Ian Wright is not a friend, you frumpy twat," Jimmy snarled through clenched teeth. "Where've you been for the last thirty-fucking-years? Because if that's how you're gonna talk, it sure hell hasn't been in the six counties with the rest of us."

Finally taking the cigarette off her lap, Catherine crushed it in the ashtray. She couldn't exactly figure out what shook her the most: Jimmy striking her or him forcing her to make the call that would end a good man's life.

She never held being a police officer over Ian's head, being mature enough to understand he was simply doing his job when it came to investigating the crimes committed in Belfast. It was no different than her doing her job of committing said crimes. If they needed an investigation stalled, they handled it by handing over an envelope bursting with cash.

This time around it was personal, and for what reason, she had no idea. Ian knew something that a few thousand quid couldn't solve.

Jimmy flexed the hand he used to smack her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the bright red mark on her pale cheek, wishing he hadn't done it. The guilt was almost paralyzing. It hadn't been a gut reaction to hearing her say what she did, it was more so to prove to himself and everyone else in the room that he wasn't too soft on her after all.

The only thing keeping Catherine from storming out of the pub and finding her way to the airport was her pride. She didn't want Jimmy nor his men to think she was too soft to handle one pitiful smack. Besides, Patrick had wailed on her a lot harder when he was blind-drunk than what Jimmy managed just now.

Jimmy poured another two shots, wasting no time knocking back the one for him. He placed the glass upside down on the table, wiping a rogue droplet of whiskey off his lower lip.

"Here's the situation. Right now, Dessie is at the Holywood Golf Club, just itching to make the shot straight through Ian's front window, and I have a lad sitting across the Falls Road itching to make the same shot at your da. If you refuse to make the call to get Ian in place for Dessie, I make the call to Michael Casey.

Catherine felt like the wind had been knocked out of her. "You're lying, so you are."

Jimmy smirked, picking up his Blackberry. He showed Catherine a photo and her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. It was of Patrick sitting in his favorite recliner, remote in one hand, beer in the other, like every night when he watched the news. Catherine nearly lost her mind when she noticed Danny's light blue blanket laid out in the middle of the room, toys scattered around it.

Her boys were there, too.

"You're bluffing. You wouldn't do that to my Da with Eamonn there to see!"

Jimmy shrugged. "Even if I am, is that a chance you're willing to take, a chuisle? For a goddamn peeler who couldn't give a shite about you."

No, it wasn't. Nor did she want to be the one who put Ian in the line of sight to catch a .50 caliber bullet in the forehead. Catherine had seen her fair share of sniper hits, and all she could imagine was his head turning into pink mist. But living with that guilt would be light-years easier to deal with than something happening to Patrick, Eamonn, Sean, or Danny. She feared for Dessie as well. There was no way for her to know if Jimmy had set him up to be caught with the Barrett trying to scurry from the golf club.

She could just slap him for letting Jimmy talk him into doing something so reckless.

Needing whiskey more than ever, Catherine finally drowned her shot only to quickly pour another one. The raw booze gurgling in her empty, upset stomach, she took a breath. "If I make the call, I have your word nothing happens to my Da, my sons, and Dessie?"

Jimmy nodded. "I promise nothin'll happen to any of 'em."

"Okay." Snatching the phone off the table, Catherine flipped it open. It was either going to be Ian or Patrick, and she couldn't think about going back to Belfast knowing she'd not only have to bury her father but deal with the trauma Eamonn and Sean would be scarred with from seeing their grandfather's head explode like a watermelon.

Not trusting Catherine to dial the correct number, Jimmy took the phone from her hands so he could punch in the numbers himself. He pressed the small green button, then handed it back off to her.

The entire time it rang, all Catherine could do was pray Ian wouldn't answer. If he didn't answer, that would mean he wasn't home.

Her heart sank when the line picked up and she heard his voice. Her gut told her to hang up right away. Her only job was to get him to the front of the house where the landline phone was kept. Dessie had a quick trigger finger and even better aim, so him just being in the room would be enough. But she couldn't end it that way.

"Ian," she said, her words laced with a sickly false delight. "It's Catherine."

Jimmy nearly had a stroke when she so brazenly identified herself. Being a detective for the Serious Crimes branch, there was no way his phone wasn't wired to record the threatening calls he surely received.

"No, everything's fine," she paused, "I just — I just wanted to tell you that I'm sorry."


	91. Drunken Lullabies

The Musgrave PSNI station was a whirlwind of chaos.

Detectives of every rank were shouting over one another, phones rang off the hook, and stress levels were off the charts. This wasn't the first time they've lost an officer from Musgrave, but that never made it any easier to deal with when it happened. Mostly, the PSNI in Belfast was in shock, wholly consumed with the reignited hatred they oozed for those who fell into the category of dissident republicans. Ian Wright's death had the thumbprint of an IRA hit all over it, and why it happened, very few could comprehend.

It was just after eleven p.m. when Emmett Jones made it to the station. He was head of a counter-terror unit under the Serious Crimes Branch, pleased to see his small team of three officers was hard at work with the others.

Taking a sip of the coffee he'd brought from home, Emmett took a breath, knowing this would be his home for the next week. While it baffled most of the officers trying to figure out why their colleague had been the target of the sniper hit, Emmett prepared to spill the unfortunate truth about the respected constable.

He slipped over to his desk unnoticed, hoping to settle in before the shitshow fell solely onto his shoulders. Gavin — a young and ambitious detective on Emmett's team — spun around his chair, chewing on the cap of his pen.

"Where've you been? We all thought you'd be the first one here."

Emmett turned on his desktop computer while pulling the small steno pad from the pocket of his windbreaker. "I stopped by the house first to check out the scene and offer my condolences to the widow."

"Shite," said Gavin, pen still in his mouth. "How's she? The kids?"

"Just as you'd think. She came downstairs to find the back of the lad's head missing and his brain splattered all over the room."

Before Gavin said anything, Michael hung up his phone at the adjacent desk. "That was MI5. They have confirmation from the feds Stateside that Catherine and Jimmy are in Northern Cali right now."

"Any word on Dessie? The fellas down in Cross swung by the house and said it looked like no one was home. Fecker's probably in the Republic by now," added Gavin.

"My source spotted him in Belfast earlier." Emmett thumbed through the pages of notes he had taken over the last hour. "He was dropping the wee boys off with Patrick, but we all know he's got about a dozen alibis lined up already." He looked around the buzzing war room, realizing the last member of his team was missing in action. "Where's Zach?"

"He's working on the warrants. None of the judges he tried reaching out to answered their phones, so he's making house calls to see if he can find one to sign off on 'em. Once we've got the arrest warrants for Catherine and Jimmy, we'll submit the request with Interpol to have their notices upgraded from green to red so the feds in Cali can move in and send the arseholes back," said Michael.

Emmett nodded. He disagreed with the tactic, knowing well enough Zach was risking sending Dessie and his crew underground if they spotted him knocking on the doors of judges.

But what other options did they have?

* * *

Dessie sat in the car, dreading heading inside the house. The lights in the front room were still on, giving Dessie the obvious sign Patrick was up waiting for him. Shaking his watch into place on his wrist, he grimaced when he realized how late it was.

So much for this being a quick job.

Pulling the keys from the ignition, Dessie stuffed when into the pocket of his jacket and hurried up the walkway. Patrick was furious enough with him already, the last thing Dessie wanted to do was give Patrick another grievance to add to the list.

When he reached the front door, Dessie noticed Patrick cracked it. Patrick must have seen him pull up… fifteen minutes ago.

Fan-fucking-tastic, thought Dessie.

Pushing his way inside, he quietly closed the door. To some extent, Dessie was hoping he could sneak passed Patrick and collect the boys from Catherine's old room without being spotted. Anything left behind was a casualty of war. He'd rather shell out the money for a new diaper bag, blanket, and toys before experiencing the wrath of Patrick O'Toole.

Throwing a Hail Mary, Dessie took the first step on the stairs. The wood groaned under his foot, giving him away. He gripped the banister and dropped his head.

"The news about the copper broke over an hour ago," said Patrick. He didn't even turn around in his recliner to look at Dessie. "Where've you been?"

Dessie braced the weight of the crushing question on his shoulders. That was Patrick's polite way of asking if he stopped to enjoy the company of a woman who wasn't Catherine.

"Andytown. If you haven't noticed, the area's buzzin' with peelers so I've been trying to keep out of sight."

"What are you so jittery about?" Turning off the television, Patrick got up and walked towards Dessie. When he was close enough, he slapped Dessie on the arm. "You've been here drinkin' with me all night. Liv, my wee boy, and his girl were all here, too. Even Owen McCool saw ya gettin' smokes at the newsstand at nine, and all the lads down at the Felons Club saw you havin' a pint around ten. You stayed there until closing for a wee break from the boys because your wife's gone taking care of her sick uncle in America."

Dessie was speechless. Patrick arranging his alibis was the last thing he expected given the extenuating circumstances.

Reaching for his jacket, Patrick put it on. "The boys knocked out and there's no point in you making the drive back to Cross this late so you can just crash on the couch. C'mon, I'll buy you a drink."

"I appreciate the offer but I don't wanna put you out anymore since you've been watching 'em all day. And I'm sure Liv has gotten little sleep gettin' up with Danny."

Zipping his beaten leather jacket, Patrick clamped a cigarette between his front teeth. He moved it around with the tip of his tongue, staring Dessie down. "What does it matter to you, anyway? From what I hear, it's not you gettin' up with him every night. Catherine is. I mean I get it, havin' an infant at home can cut into the valuable time of gettin' pissed and your cock sucked by scrubbers."

Something in Dessie finally snapped. He pointed his finger at Patrick, speaking through gritted teeth, "You've no idea what the fuck you're talkin' about, so I think you 'oughta shut your fuckin' mouth there. What goes on between me and my wife is none of your busin-"

Patrick shut Dessie up by cold-cocking him right in the mouth. Dessie stumbled backward, pressing the tips of his fingers to the bleeding split in his lower lip. While Patrick admired Dessie's few found confidence to stand up to him, he wasn't about to let some fucking punk mouth off.

"What the fuck was that for?" Wiping the blood off on his jeans, Dessie tongued the wound.

Tucking the cigarette behind his ear, Patrick took a step towards him. They were equally sized, but Dessie was more intimidated than he will admit.

"Catherine may be your wife, but need I remind you how fast that relationship status can change? She will always be my child and what's goin' with her is my fuckin' business. You wanna screw around behind her back, go for it. I don't give a shite because it's not my marriage. The moment you come between me and my daughter, that's when you and I'll have some actual problems, mate. Ya hear me?"

Dessie locked eyes with Patrick. A chill ran down his spine to see Patrick's usual winter blue eyes were three shades darker with a murderous glimmer. This wasn't a bluff he dared to challenge.

"Aye. I hear ya, Paddy."

Patrick reached out and lightly slapped Dessie's cheek thrice. "Brilliant. Now, what do ya say we take a walk down the road? I dunno about you, but I need a goddamn pint."

* * *

Catherine needed to drink, and she didn't want to do it alone.

Hunched over her third dirty vodka martini of the night, Catherine's plan was simple. Get so fucked up she'd wake up tomorrow afternoon with the mother of all hangovers and zero recollection of anything that happened over the last day. It was a plan that seemed to work wonders for Patrick, so she figured there'd be no harm in giving it a go.

Fiona showed up to the pub sooner than she told Catherine she would. Traffic from Sacramento to San Francisco hadn't been nearly as bad as predicted, and the tone of Catherine's voice sparked her maternal instinct of concern. It was so out of character of Catherine to suggest they meet for a casual drink, so a million and one questions were sitting on Fiona's tongue.

Tossing her purse on the empty barstool beside the one she claimed, Fiona smiled warmly at the young male bartender who approached.

"Grey Goose," she ordered. "On the rocks, please."

Catherine slipped a green olive off the plastic spear with her teeth, slowly chewing as she turned to glance at Fiona. "I didn't think you'd show. Was gettin' worried you wouldn't be able to shake the fella Jimmy pinned on ya."

When the bartender dropped off the vodka, Fiona lifted the glass to her mouth. "Jimmy can go fuck himself." She took a sip. "I dunno who in the hell he thinks he is, tellin' me I can't go see my husband anymore."

Catherine was none too pleased about being barred from seeing Chibs either, but she wasn't about to drop all the blame onto Jimmy.

"He has his reasons, Fi. I caught a fed at St. Thomas this morn' after I saw Filip and she seems keen to get to Jimmy."

"Jesus. How bad is it?"

Catherine polished off the rest of her drink and signaled the bartender for another. "I'd say bad. The bitch knew about Eamonn, Sean, and Danny. She knew my married name, and about how Jimmy used to beat me face in."

For Fiona, there wasn't enough alcohol in her glass nor her system to continue this conversation. If the feds had that kind of information on Catherine, she could only imagine what sort of notes they had on her. Polishing off the last of her vodka, she too ordered another round.

"You think someone's talkin'?"

"Aye. I do." Catherine ran a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. Her face was flush and Fiona noticed how her eyes were glassy and bloodshot. "My gut is tellin' me it's Liam, but I don't understand how they would've gotten to him. Like, how would they even know he's here?"

"Filip didn't tell you?" Fiona asked, furrowing her brow.

Catherine's heart nearly exploded. "Tell me what?"

When she realized her husband was keeping valuable secrets from his niece, Fiona swore under her breath. She was tiring of the games.

When the bartender dropped off the fresh round of drinks, neither of them wasted time taking a large sip.

"Liam got arrested for drink driving and they tried to deport him. This is only what I've been told, so its secondhand information and shouldn't be taken at face value, but Filip told me his hearin' before the immigration judge was closed and I guess he had a bloke try to find the court documents, but they're sealed. I'm not sure if they dropped the case, but out of nowhere they released him from prison."

Resting her elbows on the bar, Catherine buried her face in her hands. She wanted to scream and rip her hair out. Working with the police was how Liam got in this mess to begin with, Catherine couldn't believe he'd bury himself in the same whole a second time.

And for what?

"This day honestly just keeps getting worse and worse," groaned Catherine.

"Don't you be worrying about the feds." Fiona placed a warm hand between Catherine's shoulder blades, rubbing small, comforting circles. "It's nothing none of us haven't dealt with before. You've just gotta give Jimmy time to figure something out."

Catherine couldn't stop herself from laughing, confusing Fiona. "Jimmy's my bleedin' problem."

"What did he do now?"

Not daring to come right out and say it in the middle of the bar, Catherine grabbed her purse resting down by her feet and rummaged through it until she found her phone. Going straight to the Sky News website, Catherine clicked the link for the breaking news article, handing it off to Fiona.

All she needed to do was read the headline to get the gist of what Catherine was talking about. Locking the phone, Fiona set it down beside Catherine's glass. "You're better off staying here."

"Nope," said Catherine, popping the 'p' for dramatic effect. "The longer I'm gone, the more time the peelers'll have to stew. The second I show my face anywhere on that island, they'll be draggin' my arse in. I'm better off just gettin' it over with. I tried calling Dessie to see what's up, but he's not answering any of his phones. Dealing with that on top of what you just told me about Liam… what do you say we head off to some exotic place with the kids and leave these fuckwits to handle everything on their own?"

"That's a tempting offer, so it is. Those arseholes wouldn't last two days without us there to hold their goddamn hands."

* * *

Dessie jutted against the backrest of the barstool, burying his face in his hands. "I can't believe I made her fuckin' do that." Leaning forward again, he rested his elbows on the bar and gripped the nape of his neck. "It was a wee harsh, yeah?"

Patrick ran his thumb over a chip in his pint glass, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He took a drag and exhaled. "I love me daughter. I do. She made her bed with Ian and it was your call to make."

That didn't answer his question.

"But do you think it was the right call?"

Patrick took a sip of his warm beer, wishing Dessie would just drop it already. Thinking about Catherine and Ian were images he's spent a lot of time trying to ignore. Her abusive relationship with Jimmy, two illegitimate children, and her impulsivity were things Patrick would accept about Catherine. A romantic fling with an English constable that he could never forgive her for.

"We both know she never would have given the lad a bell if Jimmy hadn't made her think Casey was ready to pop me off, too," Patrick lowly said. "What we planned, she had it coming. And since you need me to coddle you, no, ya weren't too harsh, and you made the right call. If it were up to me, I would have made her stand in the same goddamn room with him while you pulled the trigger."

"I'm gonna tell her," Dessie declared. He took a swig of beer. "When she gets home, I'm gonna tell her about the scrubbers and why we really took Ian out. No more bleedin' secrets."

Patrick slowly drank the last of his beer, his eyes menacingly fixated on Dessie. He set the glass down. "Are you fucking stupid? You honestly think telling her is the best thing to do?"

"You fucking told me to!"

"About the whores," Patrick clarified. "You're a fool if you tell her about Ian. Do you've any idea what sort of shite your wee revelation'll kick up?"

"She deserves to know, Paddy. I said from the very beginning she needs to know just how badly her poor decision to fuck the lad ended up gettin' all of us fucked. You just said it yourself that she deserves everything she has comin'."

"If you say a goddamn word about the bastard double-crossing her, it'll send her so far underground, good luck gettin' her back up here with the rest of us."

Dessie dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Once the investigation into Ian gets goin' it'll be on the front page of every newspaper from Tralee to Glasgow that he was in bed with us."

"That won't happen," Patrick said with conviction. "The PSNI is gonna do everything they can to cover up the fact we flipped one of their officers. They're probably shittin' themselves, accusing each other of bein' a rat. She'll never find out as long as we can keep her from bein' arrested."

Dessie snorted. He knew the reality of the situation, appreciating Patrick's overly optimistic view even though that wasn't exactly what he needed right now.

"And if she gets arrested?"

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. Not to hijack the conversation here, but you mind telling me what's been going on with you two lately?"

Staring straight ahead, Dessie realized he couldn't keep this weight on his chest anymore. Even if he were coming clean to his vexed father-in-law, it was still oddly comforting.

"Catherine had a miscarriage. It happened like a week after we brought Danny home. Neither of us knew she was even pregnant, but that doesn't make it any easier to deal with, ya know?"

Patrick froze, his heart falling straight into his stomach. His eyes brimming with hot tears, he took a sip of beer in hopes it would relax the lump in his throat. He couldn't figure out why Catherine hadn't told him.

"So that's why there's been tension."

"Oh, no. It gets worse." Throwing Catherine under the bus to her father wasn't something Dessie would normally consider. However, he lost his inhibition somewhere between his second and fourth beers. "When I took her to hospital to get checked out, I learned this wasn't the first time our wee Catherine Mary lost a pregnancy."

Straightening up in the barstool, Patrick gripped his glass so tight it was a miracle it didn't shatter.

"What? Did she and Darragh try for another after Seany?"

"That was my first thought, too, until she told the doc it happened in," Dessie drummed his hands on the bar, "1998!"

Patrick shot up, bouncing on the balls of his feet like a boxer in the ring. Dessie swiveled, polishing off the rest of his beer. Watching the way Patrick reacted to the news only vindicated how he reacted, too.

Slapping his hands on the top of his head, Patrick pulled his hair. "I'm gonna kill him. I'm gonna kill him, and then I'm gonna fuckin' kill her."

* * *

Gavin and Zach rolled the whiteboard out of the conference room they've been using as a make-shift office for the last several months. It was littered with driving license photos, grainy shots from the surveillance team, and handwritten notes on Post-Its about each of their targets.

They brought it to the font of the war room where everyone had gathered for a briefing on the case. The fury was palpable, and once they all saw who the prime suspects were, it only made the officers angrier. Collecting the files he had on each person on the board, Emmett got up from his desk and headed to the front of the room.

"Based on the information we've been able to gather throughout the last few months and tonight, these are our key suspects." Emmett pointed to the three photos tapped to the top of the board. "Jimmy O'Phelan, Desmond Dennehy, and Dessie's wife Catherine Dennehy. In the folders Michael gave each of you, you'll notice they're respectively code-named Ace of Spades, King of Spades, and Queen of Spades. Zach, do you wanna take it from here?"

Zach leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head. "We've confirmed Jimmy and Catherine are out of the country, so we're working with the American authorities to locate them for extradition. Based on his conviction for being part of a sniper team for the Provisional IRA, Dessie is the person of interest to be the triggerman. We know he has access to about ten mobile phones which he'll frequently change, and several vehicles and an abundance of number-plates because of his job as a mechanic in Crossmaglen. He has a vast collection of firearms, the location, and quantity of which we're unsure of, so we should consider him armed and dangerous at all times."

"He has associates all over the United Kingdom," Michael cut in. "And in the Republic, so we've asked the Guards for help in locating him because he frequents Dundalk and Limerick. If Catherine and Jimmy aren't apprehended in America, we're confident they'll come back to Northern Ireland through the Republic. She also has three children, so we need to be mindful when arresting her — the goal is to do it when they're not around."

Emmett took over. "We will hunt them down, and it may take a little more than basic police work. These are dissidents we're dealing with; they may not be as sophisticated as they once were, but the three of them are smart. They'll spot you before you have the chance to spot them. The biggest priority is building a case that will stand up in a court of law, and the goal is to get enough evidence that will convict them on severe charges. If you see them engaged in petty bullshit, let it go. I want these fuckers put away for a long time so there shouldn't be any short cuts."

"Will there be a surveillance team tasked with watching them once they're located?" asked a voice from the back.

"Unfortunately, no," answered Emmett. "Full, twenty-four-hour surveillance and overtime aren't in the budget so we have to be smart."

"I'm guessin' that means we can't have a wee bit of fun with 'em?" Johnny Harris tried to hide his smirk but failed.

Gavin didn't find the question as humorous as the rest of the room did, not wanting to see his hard work circle the drain. "Absolutely no mind games. If they get paranoid, it could be six months to a year before we see 'em make any moves. Dessie and Catherine aren't afraid to close up shop if that means keeping everyone they're involved with out of Maghaberry."

"How do youse know it was them? As far as any of us know, Ian never ruffled their feathers. He questioned Catherine a few times when she was hauled in, but he said nothing if they harassed or targeted him."

Reading the crowd, Emmett decided that piece of information was something he needed to keep close to the chest, reviled only when it was necessary. The officers needed to take this time to grieve, not fall into a pit of their cognitive dissonance on top of everything else. "We believe Ian's work on his cases connected to Catherine put him in the middle of a predicament he was ill-equip to handle. We also have very high confidence this is an isolated incident and there's no immediate danger to other officers."

At least that's what Emmett hoped. If Catherine charmed one of them, God only knew how many others there were.

* * *

"Filip told me I should ask you about what happened between him and Jimmy." Stepping outside of the bar, Catherine lit a cigarette and handed the lighter to Fiona. "Why won't he just tell me?"

Having heard from Chibs earlier in the day, Fiona had been expecting this to come up. It surprised her it took Catherine almost five martinis and four cigarettes to muster the courage.

"Because if you haven't noticed, both of 'em are stubborn bastards. Neither of 'em'll ever admit they overreacted."

"Jimmy told me it was because Filip touted to the RUC about my Da."

Fiona shook her head, taking a drag of her smoke. Her head was swimming from the alcohol and nicotine buzz. "This may come as a wee shock to you, but Jimmy's an arsehole. He'll say just about anything if it'll get him what he wants, and he wanted you to stay away from Filip."

"Why?"

"Because none of us wanted you to find out you were the one at the center of the entire clusterfuck." Looking at Catherine, Fiona knew she would not come right out and ask. A part of Catherine was hesitant, still believing ignorance is bliss. "Ya want me to tell ya what happened?"

"Aye."

Pushing her thick ringlet curls out of her face, Fiona tried to figure out how to approach this. No matter what she said, it would leave Catherine feeling like utter shit. With everything that's happened in the last handful of years, there was no way to predict how she would react either. Fiona didn't want Catherine to write Chibs off as the awful guy and immediately jump to Jimmy's defense, but she didn't think that would be a problem after Catherine told her what role he made her play in the shooting in Belfast.

Stubbing out her half-smoked cigarette, Fiona dumped it and pulled her sweater tighter around her torso when a chilly breeze off the ocean came rolling in.

"Filip forgot about you," she said. "Do you remember when you were at the train station in Newry by yourself? I like you were like ten or eleven."

Catherine stared at the cracks in the pavement, trying the best she could to digest what she'd just been told. Did she remember? She fucking remembered. There was no way she could ever forget sitting outside of the Newry train station for nearly four hours after returning from her weekend in Dublin with Patrick.

"That makes little sense. My Da told me Jimmy'd be waitin' for me and he's the one who eventually showed up."

At this rate, Fiona wondered if opening her mouth had been a superb idea. If she would have known Catherine blamed Jimmy all this time, telling her the truth seemed futile. Better for her to think Jimmy was in the wrong and not Chibs.

She couldn't back out now.

"Jimmy was supposed to, but the night before, the lads in Cross called him and asked for help in the morn' because they didn't have enough hands for the shipment. Filip said he'd get you… that was until he started drinkin' after a wee row he and I had. When Jimmy found out you were still in Newry hours after your train came in, he went lookin' for Filip once he got you back to Belfast. Found him still sittin' in his favorite chair at the Rock Bar. Seein' you all upset the way ya were — Jimmy lost it, Catherine. When Filip came home all beaten up, I thought that was the end."

"Jimmy wouldn't banish him over that. Somethin' else had to have happened!"

"Aye. Somethin' else did. What happened with you was only the start of it. Filip was so furious and embarrassed by what Jimmy'd done, he went off the fuckin' rails, so he did."

Catherine slapped a hand over her mouth, tears pooling in her eyes when she started connecting the dots from what she remembered. There was one particular incident she recalled all too vividly. It made her feel like an idiot for not having put the two-and-two together sooner.

"Oh, Jesus, Fi. It wasn't Filip who did _that_ to Jimmy, was it?"

Fiona reached around Catherine and took the pack of smokes from her back pocket and lit up another one. Exhaling, she slowly nodded.

For the second time in less than six hours, Catherine's world came crumbling down.

"Why? Why would you let him do that?!"

"I had no idea what he was plannin'!" Fiona yelled, only to lower her voice. "If I had known he was gonna throw that pipe bomb through the front window of Jimmy's house, you think I wouldn't have stopped him?"

Catherine kicked the defenseless metal garbage can in front of the pub as hard as she could. "Motherfucker! So that's why Jimmy slashed his face. Because the lass he was seein' at the time ended up gettin' her face all sorts of fucked up."

"I know Filip," defended Fiona. "He never would've done it if he knew Jimmy had a lass there with him."

Trying her best not to burst into tears, Catherine swallowed hard. "Doesn't fuckin' matter. You should have kept your eye on him, you knew he'd be out lookin' for blood."

Sick of having the finger of blame pointed in her direction, Fiona spat, "Why don't you ask Dessie why he didn't stop him. He's the one who gave Filip the hardware."

"Don't you fuckin' dare go off draggin' Dessie into all this. When he's asked to put that shite together he doesn't ask questions because it's none of his goddamn business."

"It wasn't my business either. I always stayed out of the shite goin' on between those two."

Unsatisfied with the answer she got, Catherine brushed Fiona off and headed back inside. Back at the bar, Catherine grabbed her purse, setting it on the barstool to dig through it for her wallet. She slapped a fifty-dollar bill beside Fiona's drink.

"Where the hell are you runnin' off to?" asked Fiona. "You're too drunk to be goin' anywhere alone."

Catherine shoved a stick of gum in her mouth. "Back to Oakland. I need to have a wee chat with Jimmy."

That was the worst idea she's had in a long time, Fiona thought. Grabbing her purse too, Fiona tossed down a small wad of cash to cover the rest of the bill and the tip. Catherine armed with this fresh information, in good faith she couldn't let Catherine walk into the lion's den alone. Drunk out of her mind and angry, Jimmy would rip her to shreds.


	92. Off to the Races

Catherine was grateful Fiona rejected every one of her intoxicated demands to ambush Jimmy at the pub in Oakland.

Going back to the house gave Catherine some time to sober up a little and figure out how to tread the rough conversation. She wasn't looking for a fight. All she craved was an honest exchange, despite that with Jimmy Catherine knew hearing anything which resembled honesty was farfetched.

Jimmy came strolling through the door around ten o'clock. Catherine was waiting for him on the sofa. She was cooler than she was at the pub with Fiona — who unbeknownst to Jimmy booked a hotel suite for the night to give Catherine some privacy — and jumped right up to pour him a scotch.

All unfolded as Catherine envisioned.

For a while they glibly chatted about Eamonn, figuring out how they would split his school fees and uniform cost.

With talk of Catholic education, the conversation turned down the road of religion and that's when Catherine got up from the sofa to gather the bottle of scotch from the kitchen and a glass for herself.

She made a point to either agree with everything Jimmy spoke, or spell out her differing opinion in a tone to not to provoke him.

Over several glasses and a pack of smokes, they talked back and forth between religion and philosophy, where they ventured into the dreaded realm of politics. She kept her mouth shut, letting him vent his frustrations.

It didn't take long for them to come to a discussion on the armed conflict, and the policy differences which made she and Dessie to split from the True army.

Catherine knew if she wanted Jimmy to mention anything about the cold war between him and Chibs, she'd have to open up too.

"I fucking hate being finance officer," she groaned. "I'm too bleedin' exhausted to be worrying about whether every pound is accounted for. You know, I'd give my left tit to be adjutant again. Fuckin' Kieran… he stole the position right out from under me and Dessie just let it happen!"

The corners of Jimmy's mouth curled, forming a mischievous smirk as he poured her more scotch. This was the version of Catherine he liked most. When she's drunk out of her wits, Catherine was unfiltered and feisty.

"You wanna be second-in-command?"

Taking a sip of her drink, Catherine nodded. "Aye. I know there's a lot more responsibility compared to what I do now, but that's work I enjoy. When I was chief of staff while you were in Maghaberry, I fuckin' loved every second. I didn't do it with an infant at home, though."

And there it is, Jimmy realized. Catherine got a taste of what it was like to be in charge and she's been chasing the high ever since. Unlucky for her, she had three other men in her tight-knit circle just as power hungry. Kieran, Connor, and Jack may have Dessie's ear, but Catherine had Jimmy and her wish was his command.

"Rumor has it, Dessie and Kieran grab a couple pints at Short's Bar every Saturday afternoon," Jimmy mentioned. "Maybe the lads in Dublin aren't too happy with the way Kieran's been managing things."

Catherine held up her hand to stop him from talking anymore nonsense. "No. No way in hell are you gonna have Kieran clipped and make it look like the Dublin lads did it. All you'll do is spark some bullshite gang war that we want nothing to do with. Besides, once the bodies were to drop in Dublin and Cross, there's no way Dessie would move me to adjutant because that would put me in the crossfire. I just have to accept the fact I'll never be at the top again."

He shrugged. At least he tried.

"My offer is still on the table," said Jimmy. "You come back to the True army, Donny's out and the position is yours."

"I told you before. I'm not leaving ONH."

"Why? Because of Dessie?" The irritation in Jimmy's voice was clear. It didn't faze Catherine.

"Me refusing to come back has fuck all to do with Dessie," she asserted. Jimmy's trite reproaching of Dessie exhausted Catherine. "It also has fuck all to do with how much I hate you for all the torment you've put me through. As long as those bastard Kings are the ruling council, I want nothing to do with that organization. What happened to Darragh… Dessie and I will never forget, nor will we forgive _anyone_ involved."

Jimmy's blood turned to ice. He flexed his jaw, unnerved by how Catherine menacingly peered into his eyes. It was impossible for him to figure out if it was a general warning for the Kings or directed at him, too.

"Its been five years. You need to let it go."

Grabbing the pack of cigarettes in the middle of the table, Catherine lit one then knocked back the rest of her scotch.

"Just like how you let it go when Filip threw a pipe bomb through your front window?"

"How the fuck — who fucking told you?"

"Filip told me. He told me everything that happened between youse."

For how drunk she was, Catherine impressed herself with remembering the lie. There was no way of knowing what sort of punishment Jimmy would dole out to Fiona if he knew it was her who spilled the hideous truth. Catherine could handle the bruises in the aftermath of a Jimmy whipping. In Fiona's case, Catherine worried a blindside punch and a few backhands wouldn't be all Fiona endured. Catherine also well enough understood she had Dessie in her corner, ready to go toe-to-toe with Jimmy God forbid anything happened.

Fiona had no one.

Jimmy pursed his lips and nodded. "Did he tell you the actual truth? Or just his version, so he comes out looking like the wee victim?"

Catherine straightened up, remaining stoic even though she realized she had Jimmy eating from her palm.

"What's the truth?"

"He made a bleedin' fool of me." Jimmy lit a cigarette. "After his court-martial for the pipe bomb and the lads told him he needed to leave for the Republic, he fucking stayed. He stayed in Belfast and he reminded me every chance he had."

"So that's when you tried to have him clipped. Not before the court-martial."

"Aye. I was still rank-and-file, so my commander told me if I just hurt him, they'd turn their cheek to it. That's when I," he tried to swallow the aching lump in his throat, "did that to his face. He came after me first! I didn't wanna kill him, I just wanted him all scarred up like the poor lass. But when he didn't leave after they ordered him to and patched with Sambel, what was I supposed to do?"

Catherine plucked the cigarette from Jimmy, taking a drag. She handed it back, exhaled the smoke through her nose and fell into the cushion, rubbing her sore eyes.

"No, I get it," she said. Never in a million years did she expect Jimmy to be the one who came out smelling like a rose in this entire cluster fuck. That's what made it so difficult to fathom. "It still doesn't justify you trying to kill him, but I understand. If the Ra tells you to leave and ya don't, you're there at your own risk. I just wish things were different, ya know."

"They will be different once we win the war."

It took every ounce of self-control not to roll her eyes at him. She bit her tongue. Telling Jimmy what she thought would only end in a fight when this conversation was so civil. Better off leaving well alone, Catherine figured.

She whispered, "Yeah. They will be."

* * *

In the morning, Catherine plopped down at the kitchen table, holding her throbbing head.

The last time she had a hangover this brutal, she'd been sixteen and she and her brothers found Patrick's stash of potcheen.

Jimmy was in the kitchen too, whipping up a quick meal for himself as he was far more functional than her.

"How are you feeling, a chuisle?" he asked. Jimmy glanced over his shoulder to peek at Catherine. "You want a wee cuppa?"

Resting her head on her folded arms, Catherine prayed that would stop the room from spinning. "Aye. Thanks. And for the record, as God of my witness, I am never, ever drinking again. Where's Fi?"

"Bollocks," he snorted, flipping on the electric kettle. "I've heard ya say that before. And Fi is off spending all of my hard-earned money. She's at the Tiffany shop in San Francisco to get Kerri a wee charm for her bracelet, I guess."

"You're sittin' on millions, that I know of. I'll try not to feel too sorry for ya that Fi likes to shop. Also, I fucking mean it this time. I blame you for letting me mix vodka and scotch. What a bleedin' mistake that was."

"Figured it would get that stick out of your arse."

"I appreciate that."

When Jimmy set the mug on the table in front of her, Catherine lifted her head. The nausea passed hours ago. Relief came at the expense of having her head in the toilet for most of the day. Jimmy had woken her up in the early afternoon to take something for the headache and drink a Gatorade. Both of which she didn't keep down.

The terrible nightmare of heaving until her throat and stomach hurt still fresh in her mind, Catherine took small sips of the hot, plain tea. Jimmy sat across from her with his plate of food, eyeing her. The way she drank last night, he knew there was something besides finding out the truth about Chibs weighing on her mind. How long it took Catherine to process stress, she wouldn't start drinking away this trauma for another three weeks, he figured.

"What's going on? Don't waste your breath telling me it's fuck all, or it's this shite with Filip because I know you're lying."

Catherine detested how Jimmy knew her better than anyone else. He always saw right through her charade.

"It's just," she paused, unsure if this was a conversation she wanted to have with him while fighting the booze-flu. If she didn't get it off her chest, she feared it would only end up crushing her. Nor did it help Jimmy was the only one who would understand. "Dess and I are going through a wee rough patch is all."

"The fights about your pre-term labor better not be still happening."

"No. It's not that."

"Care to share?"

Drinking the tea, she mumbled, "Not really."

As much as Jimmy hated to admit, Catherine being unwilling to unload the details of her personal life stung. Once upon a time he'd been the one she spilled all of her secrets to. For hours, over strawberry milkshakes and French fries, she'd chew his ear off about the drama at St. Dominic's.

And he'd listen to every useless word she said.

Jimmy grabbed Catherine's hand. He gave it a comforting squeeze, coming up with an idea.

Letting go of her, Jimmy took his plate to the sink, then stuffed his wallet and phone into the pocket of his trousers. "Go get dressed. We're going out."

"I don't think that's a brilliant idea," she said. "I couldn't even keep the headache tablets down."

"A greasy burger and chips do wonders for a hangover. I know a place that's violently American… you'll love it."

* * *

Settling into a bench outside In-n-Out Burger, neither Catherine nor Jimmy wasted time diving into their burger and fries.

"What's the craic with you and Dessie?"

"I'm not gonna tell you."

"We have shakes and chips. You have to, that's the law."

Catherine swirled her straw in the pink ice cream concoction. She appreciated the jest, even if he was far from joking. "I'm not gonna tell you because all you're gonna do is judge and make smartass commentary."

"I've been listening to your boy troubles since you were a wee girl. When have I ever judged or made smartass comments?"

"Always," she said. "Literally every time I would come to you, you'd tell me boys are arseholes and I need to just stay away from 'em altogether."

"Well," Jimmy licked a glob of burger sauce off his thumb, "if you listened to me back then, you wouldn't be having trouble with one now. Boys are awful. I don't think it's too late for you to join a convent."

Catherine took a bite of her burger. "I should take an oath of celibacy at this point. Dessie and I haven't had sex in a month."

Jimmy swallowed his bite of food, staring at Catherine. Her unchanged expression of apathy made it very clear she was telling the truth. "Jesus."

"I mean the passion is still there," she defended. "We're still very much attracted to each other, which even you can't deny because you walked in on me sending him wank material. We just haven't been connecting. Every time we get physical, we stop because there's this wee elephant in the room neither of us want to acknowledge, but it needs to be."

"What elephant?"

Catherine dusted the salt off her greasy fingers, picking up her shake. She took a long sip.

"He knows."

Jimmy furrowed his brow in confusion. "He knows what?"

Christ, this was like pulling teeth, he thought.

"Eamonn wasn't the first time I was up the duff."

"What did you tell him?"

"The truth." When Catherine blinked, tears slipped down her cheeks. "That I had a trip to England arranged, but my broken body had other plans."

Jimmy's heart was ten pounds heavier watching her wipe away the tears. "Your body's not broken, Catherine. It was one miscarriage that happened at the best time. You have three healthy wee boys now. Why would it matter to him, anyway? He knows Eamonn is mine and doesn't seem to care."

"Because I had another miscarriage around the time we brought Danny home. He has it in his head that I went to England and went through with it, but it's not true. He's blaming me, saying shite like how this miscarriage is my fault. Karma for an abortion I didn't even have."

Jimmy wasn't sure what to digest first. The fact she had gotten pregnant again, or that Dessie was again pinning blame all on her.

"Do you want more kids?"

"Aye. He's not getting any younger and I'm not either, but we need another wee baby like we need a hole in our heads."

"Lord give me strength," Jimmy muttered. "I told you this when you got with Lorcan, but it's obvious ya need to hear it again… either get on the pill, or go a clinic and get yourself some johnnies. That said, I'll talk to him. Set the record straight."

"There's no point." Catherine dug into her food. "If he doesn't believe me, there's no way in hell he's gonna believe you."

Jimmy fell quiet.

"I still think about it sometimes," he admitted. "That should have been the kick in the arse to leave Fi and be with you. The ironic part is that you were nineteen and handled it more maturely than I did."

"You acting immature… I'm shocked."

* * *

Jimmy sat on the patio with vodka and a joint. The night was more humid than he was used to, but it was still enjoyable.

His burner phone on the table, Jimmy debated on what to do. Catherine told him not to get involved in her marital troubles. He quasi respected her request, though it was difficult for him to stay out of it when the situation upset her. Protecting Catherine was something he did well. He'd been doing it for so long it was second nature, and it never seemed right going against his instinct.

Taking a drag from the joint, Jimmy held the smoke deep in his chest, then blew out a cloud as he settled back into the wrought-iron chair. His mind was at ease, almost euphoric, in the exact state he needed to be if he planned on going through with the call.

He checked his watch. It was almost four in the morning back home. No one liked their sleep disturbed, though Jimmy told himself if Dessie was taking his responsibility as a father to heart, he would be up by now with Danny.

He missed out on the first two years of Eamonn's life, and Jimmy understood he wasn't one to point fingers. He couldn't care less about the hypocrisy, ready to unload with the truth about how he regretted missing those valuable years and has done everything possible to make up for it since. Jimmy loved his son more than anyone — including Catherine. He may never wrap his head around the fact Dessie too often curtailed the joys of fatherhood. It was tough, Jimmy came to learn, but he loved every second.

Resentment was the only word he summed up his view on Dessie. The man was raising _his _son full time with Catherine, an opportunity Jimmy would cut off a finger for.

Things would be different when she got back to Crossmaglen, that Jimmy was sure of.

And it all would change with this phone call.

* * *

Dessie hadn't slept in days. Not since Patrick caught him at the party in Dundalk.

He sat in the living room alone. The lights and television were off and he listened to the rain pelting against windows as he drank straight from a bottle of Power's. Peering at the giant decorative clock Catherine insisted hanging on the wall, it laughed at him. He was expected to be at work in four hours.

In the front pocket of his jeans, Dessie's phone started vibrating. Digging it out, he squinted his eyes and grimaced when he saw Jimmy's number stretching across the bright screen. After tearing open the semi healed wound with Patrick at the pub the night before, talking to Jimmy would be like rubbing salt into it. He wanted nothing to do with the man who dragged his wife to hell and back. So, Dessie silenced the call and tossed the phone onto the cushion next to him.

Setting the bottle on the coffee table, Dessie clicked on the lamp and slid to the floor. He wrangled the dime bag Connor bought for him, dumping some white powder near the residue from earlier. With his Visa card he cut two lines, then snorted them with half of the McDonald's straw he saved from dinner. Dessie pinched his nose, tossing his head back when the burn hit. It didn't take long until his face became numb, and his heart pounded out of control.

Licking his finger, he dragged it through the dust left behind. As he stood, he rubbed it between his cheek and gum-line.

It wasn't often Dessie indulged his itch for cocaine, so when he did he always had reasons to justify his blossoming habit. Tonight, he told himself it was because he wasn't sleeping. How was he supposed to work, take care of two kids, an infant, and be the leader ONH deserved if he had no energy in the tank?

Besides, he'd seen Catherine and Patrick dabble with nose candy so to him the short, violent high was fair game.

He headed to the stairs, climbing up as quiet as possible. When he passed by the boys' room he held his breath, terrified the slightest movements would wake up one or all three of the tiny hell-raisers.

In his bedroom, he turned on the light and closed the door. Dessie left it unlocked in case Sean came looking for him. He went straight for the wardrobe, digging for a red metal box on the top shelf. When he found it, he retrieved the key he taped inside one of Catherine's never worn sweaters.

Box and key in hand, Dessie took a seat on the floor between the bed and the wall. He set the box between his legs, trying to think as little as possible as he unlocked it.

This was a long time coming. Five years in the making.

He took out the rubber-banded bundles of U.S. dollar bills and euro, his vital records, and other momentos he couldn't bring himself to pitch.

Finding what he was looking for, Dessie brought one knee into his chest. He reached behind him and felt around the nightstand for the pair of back-up glasses Catherine forgot to pack. He slipped them on.

"Jesus." He whisked them off. He hadn't realized just how strong her prescription is. "I'm married to Stevie Wonder, so I am."

Tossing them on the bed, Dessie held the letter closer to his face so he could better make out Darragh's chicken-scratch.

_Dess - _

_If you're reading this before I'm even dead, then fuck you, you impatient, miserable prick. _

_My Da always told me there's no shame in admitting when I'm scared because only those who aren't human don't feel that way every once in a while. Truth is, I'm fucking terrified. I'm not scared about what'll happen to me because I've accepted whatever I've coming is gonna be slow and brutal. All the shite I've stirred up in the city, can't say I don't deserve it. What scares me out of my mind is not knowing what will happen to Catherine and the boys when I'm gone. Catherine… she's a strong one, but she isn't strong enough to fight Jimmy off on her own. He's a sneaky fuck, so never, and I mean NEVER let your guard down with him. I want you to be the one holding her hand the day she buries me and the shoulder she cries on when it's over. _

_Don't even try to deny how you feel about Catherine. I see the way you are with her, and I see the way she looks at you. Sometimes I wonder if she would have been better with you in Cross than with me in Belfast. Everything that's been thrown at she and I in the last two years, I know you would have handled it way better than me and then maybe her life wouldn't be such a mess. Catherine's dumb as shite and stubborn as all hell, but underneath is a phenomenal woman who didn't deserve any of this. Thanks, Jimmy. _

_Don't be fucking selfish either. If you're not gonna love her the way she deserves to be loved, please do me, her, and the boys a favor and let her go. If you don't love how she gets toothpaste all over her mouth when she brushes her teeth, let her go, because someone else will. Don't hold her back from someone who could give her and the boys everything. When you see her and the breath isn't sucked right from your lungs, or if she doesn't soothe your nightmares in the middle of the night, Catherine isn't the lass for you. The cruelest thing anyone can do is to be with someone when they don't love them back. _

_If it doesn't work out with her, please still watch over my boys. I don't just mean wee Seany. Eamonn too. I don't give a shite what anyone bloody says. It's my name on the birth certificate, so I think well enough means he's mine. Once I'm out of the picture, Jimmy'll do whatever he can to get back into her life, and making a pawn out of Eamonn isn't above his morality. The last thing I ever want is for Jimmy to poison their lives, just like how he poisoned our Catherine. _

_He's the antichrist, so he is. The only way to bring him and the Kings down is to raise hell. And if anyone is gonna do it, it's you. All I ask is that you do not let me die in vain. _

_You're a proper lad, Dess. More decent than I'll ever be. Never forget that. _

_One more thing — I'm sorry for kicking your fat arse in the chow line when we were in Maghaberry. _

_I'll see you on the other side, mate. Hopefully not too soon. _

_Cheers - _

_Darragh_

Crumpling the yellowed paper in his fists, Dessie squeezed his eyes shut. No matter how hard he tried to control it, the tears bursted, rolling down his cheeks.

He hated himself for having been so blasé about the warning Darragh had given him. Darragh told Dessie more than once he felt it in his gut that Jimmy and the Kings were on his tail after the car bomb they detonated in front of the courthouse in Belfast.

By refusing to read the letter right after news of Darragh's death reached Crossmaglen, Dessie realized he let his mate down. Jimmy had been the one supporting Catherine through the funeral and the dark days after, and Dessie let his death be in vain by sitting on his ass even after Catherine told him it was the Kings who'd done it.

Wiping the tears from his sore eyes, Dessie noticed a photo sitting on one shelf of the wardrobe.

Behind the glass of the frame, was his, Catherine's, and Darragh's smiling faces. They were decked out in black and gold, having been at a Crossmaglen Rangers fixture. She was in the middle of the two of them, her belly swollen with Sean. While Darragh held a jovial Eamonn in one arm, the other was curled around Catherine's shoulders. As for Dessie, he had a beer in one hand and his arm protectively wrapped around her side. With Catherine almost melting into Dessie, they looked like more of a couple than she and Darragh.

Maybe he hadn't been as conspicuous in his love for Catherine as he thought if Darragh was pointing it out in the weeks before he died.

Unable to tear his eyes away from the photo, an untapped source of strength exploded in his chest. He was five years late, but he wouldn't let Darragh down. He wouldn't let Darragh's senseless murder be in vain, and nor would he sit around any longer while Jimmy and the Kings plotted his demise.

* * *

Irritated Dessie sent the call straight to voicemail, Jimmy knocked back the rest of the vodka and stood up. He left the joint burning in the ashtray, leaving the glass too as he only pocketed his phone. If Dessie wanted to be a child and ignore him, then so be it. Jimmy wasn't above playing dirty.

Heading inside, he went straight for Catherine's bedroom. The door was closed, so he gently knocked, not wanting to wake her up in case she fell back to sleep.

"Come in," she said.

Pushing his way in, Jimmy found Catherine curled up in bed. Her head was resting on one pillow while she had another held against her chest. It was obvious how sick she was feeling and a part of him regretted her dragging her out for food. He closed the door behind him while she turned down the volume on the television.

"Bout ye?" asked Jimmy. Taking a few steps closer to the bed, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Catherine yawned and stretched. "Me head is banging like two randy bunnies."

"Let's see if I can help. You mind if I join you?"

Going against her better judgement because she was only in a t-shirt and panties, Catherine moved over to give Jimmy room. He propped himself against the headboard, motioning for her to settle between his legs. He massaged her neck with the perfect amount of pressure.

Catherine closed her eyes, turning into putty under Jimmy's magic fingers.

"How did you get so good at this?" Catherine rolled her head to the side when he found a tight knot behind her ear. "I swear you weren't this good with your fingers when we first got together."

Jimmy's eyebrows darted up. "It better be my neck massaging ability you're talking about."

"Aye. So c'mon, spill. Whose the lucky lass you've been spoiling with this hidden talent you've been hiding from me?"

Taking a heavy sigh, Jimmy couldn't figure out why it felt so awkward to be talking about this with Catherine. She had no issue rubbing Darragh and Dessie in his face, yet he could never bring himself to do the same to her. Maybe, he wondered, if it was because until Catherine there hadn't been, nor will there ever be someone he took as seriously as he did her. But since she asked, he wasn't going to hide the truth.

"Siobhan Kavanagh."

Catherine's eyes sprang open. She echoed, "Siobhan Kavanagh… so that's still happening. How's it going?"

"Why do you care?" Pushing Catherine's heavy hair over one shoulder, he pressed a light kiss to the nape of her neck. He kissed her again just below her ear, then nipped her pierced lobe with his teeth. "Does it make you jealous that I'm with her?"

She let out a virulent laugh. "I'm not jealous of Siobhan at all. I just think it's a bleedin' cliche you're with the lass who had her heart broken by Dessie. Maybe if we all just branched out and stopped shagging each other, we'd have a lot less drama in our lives. We're worse than teenagers, I swear."

"I dunno, a chuisle. It sounds like you're a wee jealous."

Catherine rolled her eyes. She would not dignify him with an answer.

"Have you heard from Dessie?" Jimmy tried moving the conversation in the direction he intended it to go all along. "I tried to give him a bell a few times, but he kept sending me to voicemail."

"He called me earlier in the afternoon so I could say goodnight to the boys. He was quiet, though. I think he's getting frustrated with me because I haven't reported anything to him about Cammy and Eddie."

Kneading his fingers between her shoulder blades, Jimmy realized the set up couldn't have been anymore perfect.

"I don't think it's Cammy and Eddie what's got Dessie all twisted."

Catherine glanced back at him. "What do ya mean?"

Jimmy stopped rubbing her back, wrapping his arms around her instead. "I didn't want to keep it from you, but Dessie put it up for a vote and that's what the lads decided on."

Catherine's head swam from the information overload. Untangling herself from his firm hold, she pushed back the blanket and turned around, sitting on her ankles.

"Dessie and the lads decided not to tell me what?"

"About Ian," confessed Jimmy. "It wasn't Sambel running into trouble with the peelers that set this all off."

Pressing a hand to her forehead, Catherine tried not to cry. With how much has been thrown at her in the last twenty-four hours, Catherine wasn't sure if she could process anymore.

"What do you mean it wasn't Sambel who started all this shite?" She rose her shaky voice, "What the fuck is going on behind my back, Jimmy?"

"Dessie had a shipment of smokes busted at the Dublin port and the only fellas who knew about it besides him were Kieran, Connor, Aidan, and your sweetheart."

_Your sweetheart. _

Heat crept into her cheeks, and the shame spiraled through her.

"When Dessie found out what happened, he had the ISU sit down with the fellas for a wee debriefing. It wasn't them who grassed, so Dessie turned his attention somewhere else. I guess your brother put him in touch with McGee because he's got a nephew working out of Musgrave and you were wrong about Ian. He was saying more than his prayers at night, which is what I told you would happen. What was even going through your bloody mind? Thinking you could trust someone like him."

She hadn't been thinking — that was the problem.

Catherine's jaw trembled as she jumped off the bed. She paced the room, trying to make sense of everything being dropped into her lap.

"Why would he do that? Do you know how long he's been feeding them intel?"

Jimmy crossed his ankles and laced his fingers behind his head. He hated to admit it was gratifying to watch Catherine sweat over her poor decision making. "I dunno. Either he snapped and cleared his conscience, or someone noticed we were always a step ahead of 'em and opened an inquiry."

"But what kind of intel did he give up?"

Now her fidgeting and pacing was just starting to annoy him. He thought about slipping her something to relax, but Jimmy needed Catherine in sound mind and body.

"He told them how and where the smokes come in. McGee's nephew said the team handling the case on the bank job you and Dess pulled off are trying to get warrants to go through your finances. He also told us Ian pointed the finger at you and Dessie for the shooting that happened in Ardoyne when they rioted over the Twelfth, and the pipe bomb they found under the Prod copper's car in Poleglass."

Catherine's back hit the wall, and she slid down it. Running her shaky hands through her hair, her breathing sharpened. It felt like a thousand daggers hitting her at once in the chest with every breath she tried taking. Blood thundered in her ears, and her vision went blurry.

"I'm done! I'm fucking done with it all!" screamed Catherine. She wiped away the tears skating down her cheeks. "I don't wanna be part of this shite anymore! I can't end up in Hydebank!"

Jimmy couldn't sit by and watch Catherine fall down the rabbit hole of a nervous breakdown. He only wanted to scare her enough to show she had to be making better decisions when so much was on the line. He didn't mean to frighten her to the point of leaving.

Jumping off the bed, Jimmy hooked his hands under her armpits and brought her up on her feet. He moved her towards the bed, sitting her down. Crouching, he pushed the hair which was sticking to her wet cheeks out of the way.

"Catherine," he soothed. "You've gotta calm down for me, a chuisle." The tears only flowed harder. Now he understood why Patrick refused to budge on his stance of not telling her. Never in a million years did Jimmy expect this response. Catherine was unraveling at the seam and it felt like there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I fucked up, Jimmy! I'm so," she hiccuped, "I'm so sorry! It's my fault we're all gonna end up in prison!"

It broke his heart hearing her talk in such a way, albeit he refused to deny anything she said was wrong. That was a conversation for another day.

Taking off her glasses and setting them on the bed, Catherine straightened up. She covered her face with her hands, trying to calm down. That seemed impossible with the weight of the world crashing down on her. Catherine was big enough to admit her mistakes and understood if she tried to shy away from the consequences, there'd be hell to pay.

"Dessie should court-martial me," she blurted. "They should dismiss me from ONH and I'll leave for the Republic with the boys. I'm no better than Liam or Ian and deserve to be—"

Jimmy couldn't let her finish that sentence. He knocked her hands away from her face, grabbing her cheeks with one hand. "Catch yourself on! Don't fucking say that shite because you're nothing like Ian or your brother. You were thinking with your fanny, but at least you still used your brain by not saying anything ya weren't supposed to." Jimmy let go of Catherine's cheeks once she calmed down. The tears stopped, but her breaths were still short and choppy.

"You've no idea how fucking lucky you are. Back when me and your da were growing up, the lasses who were caught doin' what you did had their heads shaved or were shot. I get you were lonely after Darragh died, but do you understand why we made such a big deal out of it? He's the enemy, and you fucked him. That was a slap in the face and it was made worse when we figured out he wasn't man enough to deal with the aftermath of that he'd done."

"I understand," she rested her hands on his shoulders. He could tell she was still trembling as her fingers dug into him. "I'll do whatever youse ask of me so I can prove I'm loyal to the cause."

Jimmy wrapped one of her curls around his finger, his eyes staring straight into red, bloated ones. "I know you will. You're a good girl, a chuisle, but you've gotta stop being such an eejit. I heard from Cacuzza and he's agreed to meet with us to try out the hardware. Tomorrow I want you to come out to the desert with Eddie, Cammy, and I so we can close this deal then get you on a plane back home."

"If it's okay with you," she sniffled, "I'd like to stay until Filip is home. I wanna talk with him more about what happened in Belfast but I can't do it at hospital with the feds crawling around."

"No. All you'll do is-"

Catherine started talking over him. "I just want to hear his side of the story. You told me yours, I owe it to him to clear the air on his end."

"You don't owe Filip anything."

"Aye. I do. But I don't expect you to understand why."

Jimmy stood up. He rolled his tense shoulders, trying to relax.

"I'll think about it. Try to get some sleep, will ya?" He headed to the door. "I need ya to be sharp tomorrow."

* * *

The last time Dessie shaved his head, he was thirty-two.

Clippers in hand, _Anarchy in the U.K. _was blasting from somewhere in the derelict house tucked away in the countryside of south Armagh. He was high out of mind, riding the waves between uncontrollable laughter and sobs, trying to forget the torment of having spent over a year locked away like an animal. The Provisional IRA had declared a ceasefire, Eilish divorced him and took his girls to Scotland.

To hell with the coward Provos. To hell with his cunt of an ex-wife. To hell with his hair.

A little older and not much wiser, Dessie was back in front of the bathroom mirror. The same Sex Pistols song blaring through the headphones of the iPod Catherine gave him for his forty-third birthday, there were no tears and no laughter as he plugged the clippers into the outlet.

Tossing his cigarette into the toilet, Dessie grabbed the straw and snorted another three lines of cocaine off the ledge of the sink. When he looked in the mirror, he fiendishly smiled at the reflection staring back at him. The life was zapped out of his bloodshot, sunken eyes. He was a shell of the man he'd been only five weeks ago. A shell in the sense that he was a spent shell casing of a bullet — the repercussion of something lethal.

Dessie turned into the epitome of imposed violence.

Another man was trying to steal his wife right under his nose, his best friend was dead, and the Police Service of Northern Ireland was closing in on him.

Turning on the clippers, Dessie ran a hand through his long hair one last time. He couldn't deny he'd miss Catherine tugging on the mocha locks when he wore her thighs like earmuffs, but it was the fresh start he needed.

His heart was beating out his chest as he drove the clippers from the front of his scalp to the nape of his neck. Watching thick tresses fall into the sink, it was liberating.

To hell with Jimmy O'Phelan and the Irish Kings. To hell with the True Irish Republican Army. To hell with the PSNI. To hell with his hair.

When he finished, Dessie turned off the clippers and set them in the sink. He looked over his work, satisfied. As he brushed strands off his bare chest, the tattoo over his heart caught his attention.

Dragging his thumb over the ink reading _Catherine_, Dessie tried to hold himself together. He needed to get her back to the safety of Crossmaglen.

Before the blood spilled in Belfast.


End file.
